


A Kingdom Free of Magic

by Dinkel



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Attempted Rape/Non-Con, M/M, Minor Character Death, Pre-Slash, Season/Series 04
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-17
Updated: 2014-11-25
Packaged: 2018-02-17 16:10:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 42,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2315552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dinkel/pseuds/Dinkel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a traumatic incident, Merlin realises that he may not need a new destiny, but he does indeed need a new approach - before it is too late for him, for magic and for Arthur.</p><blockquote>
  <p>“Change is inevitable.” Kilgharrah was laughing at him again and yes, probably, Merlin’s self-doubt must seem laughable to a thousand-year-old creature who had seen the rise and fall of kings, the emerging and destruction of settlements, the formidable power of nature and the might of magic. “Maybe it’s time you made a conscious decision to do so, instead of merely adapting to the circumstances.”</p>
</blockquote>
            </blockquote>





	1. Lest There Be Laughter

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Everything you recognise from the BBC series _Merlin_ , including but not limited to characters, places, spells and concepts, is the property of the respective copyright holder. I mean no offence to anyone and make no money with this.
> 
> Author's Note: Welcome to this new story of mine. This is my first fic in this fandom and I'm not sure how well it turned out or if I'm entirely happy with my characterisations, but I hope that at least some of you will enjoy it. So... have fun!
> 
> Spoiler Warning: This is set after "Lancelot du Lac" (Series 4, Episode 9), but before "A Herald of the New Age" (Series 4, Episode 10). As such there might be spoilers for anything that happened before. I also borrowed a few characters that only appear in Series 5, but as I changed the circumstances of their introduction there won't be (m)any spoilers.

Merlin huffed out an annoyed breath as the feathery monstrosity atop his head once again came too close to his mouth before throwing a glare in Arthur’s direction. Arthur, who was surrounded by the more or less gracious losers of the annual Jousting Tournament, drinking from the watered down wine in his cup and regaling his listeners with stories of his many triumphs and exploits, but still found the time to smirk at Merlin and motion for him to refill his cup.

“Having fun, Merlin?” Arthur mocked while Merlin topped off his cup and much to Merlin’s annoyance managed not to spill any of the wine on the way to his mouth.

“Time of my life, Sire,” Merlin muttered, making to draw back again and take his place among the shadows, but Arthur’s next words stopped him.

“Since you’re in such a good mood I think it’s only fair that you share it with us.” There was a gleam in Arthur’s eyes that Merlin didn’t care for, only a distant echo of the careless cruelty he had displayed during their first meeting, but which still sent a shiver down Merlin’s back. “Entertain us, Merlin.”

“Sire, I don’t believe I have any skills that you would find entertaining,” Merlin replied in a whisper because as long as no-one noticed their conversation Arthur might still forget his idea. “If that is all...”

“Always so modest, our Merlin,” Gwaine’s baritone erupted to Merlin’s left and the young warlock couldn’t help the small flinch. Gwaine was once again too deep into his cups and after the incident the knights couldn’t remember and Merlin refused to acknowledge his usual jocular manner rubbed painfully over a barely healed wound. “I bet he sings like a little bird, like a merlin.”

“Merlins are no singing birds, Sir Knight, and neither am I,” he forced himself to answer, once more trying to retreat, but Gwaine’s loud words had garnered the attention of more than just Camelot’s knights and when Arthur’s sword-calloused hand wrapped around his wrist he couldn’t free himself without causing a scene.

“I should like to test that theory.” The corners of Arthur’s mouth twitched with amusement. “Go on then, let us hear, and if it’s any good you may have the rest of the night off. We all know how much you like your sleep.”

If Merlin had been in a better mood, if he hadn’t spent the last three days and nights tending to Arthur and his many tournament-related needs, if he could still joke and laugh with the other knights without hearing their jeering words and feeling their physical strength pressed against him, if Agravaine wasn’t constantly poisoning the king’s mind with his bad advice, if Arthur had given him as much as nod in acknowledgement for having some of Gaius’ muscle-relaxing salve at the ready after the final round and kneading his tense shoulders until his own fingers felt numb – if any of that had been the case, Merlin might have seen the peace offering in Arthur’s words. As it was, however, he only felt tired, exhausted, and wildly thought if maybe he could use the song of the fake Lady Helen to put everyone to sleep and finally have some peace and quiet.

Gwaine started clapping loudly, whistling through his teeth, and soon the other knights joined in, laughing and staring at Merlin, just teasing him, happy and relaxed now that they had pointlessly expanded all their surplus energy by riding at each other with blunt sticks. Even Arthur looked relaxed, for once his good humour not snuffed out by the added burden of his new kingly duties, and something in Merlin clenched with the fierce need to protect this carefree side of Arthur. Making a fool of himself wouldn’t be the worst thing he had ever done for his king.

He carefully placed the jug down on the table, which somehow gave the signal for everyone to quiet down and look at him expectantly. Merlin nervously cleared his throat and clenched his hands at his sides before he started to hum.

“Louder, we can’t hear you!” One of the visiting knights shouted gleefully, a large fellow who had nearly unseated Percival in their joust.

Merlin broke off, irritated, then started again, gradually gaining confidence and volume at the old words his mother used to sing to him, about dark nights and bright stars, summer rains and winter suns, sowing and harvesting and the times in between. It wasn’t a song suited for the ears of knights and noblewomen who had never known the toil of working the land, never realised the intimate connection between bad weather and hunger. And it wasn’t a song suited to the festive occasion, but it was one of the only songs Merlin knew by heart. When he finished, Gwaine was once again the first to break the silence, hollering and whistling his approval until the hall was again full of noise.

Merlin felt a moment of gratitude for his old friend, resolving to work harder on getting back to the easy companionship they used to share.

“That wasn’t half bad, Merlin,” Arthur spoke up, but Merlin didn’t look at him to find out if he really meant it. “Maybe I’ll make you court jester after all.”

There was laughter again and Merlin grimaced in distaste, wishing for the end of his humiliation. “In that case, I bid you goodnight, Sire.”

He bowed lower than necessary just to avoid Arthur’s gaze and then swiftly left the hall before Arthur or one of the knights could come up with another ridiculous request. He breathed a sigh of relief when the heavy doors closed behind him, pulled the stupid hat from his head and enjoyed the cool air around his ears. With the hard stone wall against his back he felt more stable, less like he would collapse or start spinning out of control, but he pushed off after only a few deep breaths and started towards Gaius’ and his quarters.

They had meant no harm, Merlin knew that and more than that, he wanted to believe it. Arthur had lost so many people in such a short time and even if he had had any time or mind to notice that he wasn’t the only one upset, would still assume that a punch to the shoulder would be as comforting as a drawn-out hug. For Gwaine copious amounts of alcohol were always the solution, no matter the problem, and with alcohol came a loose tongue and even looser thoughts. Elyan had been forced to see his sister banned from the kingdom and Percival, though he had quickly made friends with the other knights, had always remained closest to Lancelot. Leon, good, dependable Leon, had shouldered as many of Arthur’s responsibilities as he could, taking over most of the knights’ training and the organisation of the guards, and was probably just as run-down as Merlin. He wasn’t the only one who missed his friends, who felt alone and spread too thin, he knew that, and he was used to being the butt of the joke, comic relief in dire situations, the useless servant with the goofy smile and the insult-proof skin. He wasn’t going to blame them for it. But lately, in his darkest moments, he’d taken to wondering if he would ever change things for people like him or if he’d forever be condemned to choose Arthur’s life over theirs. _(Was it worth it?)_

He sharply shook his head and thought instead of Arthur’s room that still needed airing, his clothes that needed mending, the horse stalls that needed mucking. Having the evening off would have to wait until he had caught up with the day’s chores.

* * *

He was just about to finish with the horses, thinking wistfully of his bed, but knowing that he had a stack of Arthur’s rent clothing waiting for him instead, when he heard something other than the soft snorting of the horses or the rhythmic screeching of the door. Foot falls that almost disappeared under the sounds of stomping hooves.

“Hello?” he called, putting aside the cloth he had used to wipe his dirty hands and contemplating the usefulness of a pitchfork for something other than shovelling muck.

“No need for alarm, little bird.” It was one of Queen Annis’ knights, Unwin, whose horse had shied in his last joust, costing him entrance to the semi-finals. Merlin would have felt bad for him if he hadn’t seen him jerking the poor animal back to the stalls, seething and red in the face, and shouting at the unfortunate stable boy who had come to assist him.

“Is there something I can help you with, my Lord?” Merlin asked because contrary to what Arthur believed he knew when to bite back on witty comebacks.

Unwin took several steps towards him and Merlin felt uneasy with the way his large body almost entirely blocked out the light from the only torch, something like foreboding crawling up his back and settling as cold sweat between his shoulder blades. He was close now, close enough that Merlin could smell the alcohol on his breath, and count the uneven stubble around his mouth and neck.

“I’d like an encore, little bird.” Unwin leered at him and Merlin wondered if this day really had to get even worse. “I’m sure you’ll be very entertaining.”

Before Merlin could react, Unwin’s meaty hand fisted in the thin fabric of his tunic, pushing, pushing until Merlin was pressed against the wall, one of the hoops for racking up the horses digging painfully into his back and Unwin so close that his every inhalation forced the air out of Merlin’s chest. Merlin opened his mouth, whether to try to reason or to scream for help he wasn’t quite sure, and felt the cool steel of a blade against his throat.

“Not a word now, little bird, it’s not that kind of entertainment I seek.” Unwin’s free hand went to Merlin’s waist, slipping under his shirt and scratching his fingernails over Merlin’s skin, while he kept the younger man pinned with the weight of his body. “Wouldn’t want to have to slit that throat of yours, would we?”

He traced the tip of the dagger over Merlin’s jumping pulse before Merlin felt the bristling of stubble and the wet swipe of tongue following the same path. Merlin shuddered, fear and disgust rising in him alongside his magic. He knew that if he used his magic, Unwin would see and Arthur would know, forcing him to make a decision he wasn’t ready for. But his instinct of self-preservation, suppressed for so long, was clamouring for his attention and panic was clawing up through his veins, erasing all rationale. Unwin had used his distraction to cut the cord that kept his breeches in place and now they slipped down his legs, pooling around his feet and exposing him to Unwin’s greedy touch. The knight pressed the blade back against Merlin’s throat when he jerked and suddenly the chafe of sturdy trousers against his skin was gone.

“Don’t,” Merlin said despite the threat of the knife, trying to push Unwin back with both his hands against his broad chest, trying to twist out from between his burly form and the hard wall, trying to find words to dissuade him. “You don’t want to do this. I’m King Arthur’s personal servant, under his protection. He’s going to make you regret ever looking at me when he finds out.” He only earned himself a laugh and the blade nicking his skin, Unwin grinding his erection between his bare thighs and fondling his backside possessively.

“He best not find out, then,” Unwin whispered in his ear, biting at the lobe and making Merlin hiss in pain. “Or you’ll regret it, little bird.”

His chest heaving with the effort to draw enough air, his vision swimming in a sea of black, he bucked up his body in one last desperate attempt to get rid of Unwin the magic-free way, using every last trick Arthur had ever shown him. Then there was pain, a sudden light-headedness as blood gushed from the deep cut across his throat, down his neck. And lightning between his fingers, a scream that wasn’t his own and straw against his cheek. He scrambled for the last vestiges of coherent thought, trying to stem the warm flow of blood – so much blood, too much blood - with shaking fingers. The blinding light permeated his closed eyelids and the searing pain stole what little was left of his breath, leaving him gasping and trembling on the straw-covered floor, blood seeping into his clothes and cold into his bones.

* * *

Unwin was dead. Merlin couldn’t bring himself to get close enough to check for a pulse, but he could feel the absence of life, saw it in his broken gaze, and squashed the sense of relief that threatened to rise in his chest. His own breeches were half torn and the right side of his tunic was stiff with drying blood, rucked up in the back. He couldn’t stop shaking and his arms wouldn’t support him as he tried to sit up. So he lay there in the dark, straw pricking his naked skin, and looked anywhere but at Unwin.

When he finally found the strength to get up, his face and neck were crusted in blood. His own curious fingers questing over the newly healed tissue of the knife wound caused a rush of nausea, invoking the memory of another man’s fingers and lips against his skin. He staggered over to one of the water troughs, glad that it was too dark to see his reflection in the water, and did his best to wash the blood from his face and neck, harsh scrubs and jerky movements as if what Unwin had done was only skin-deep, could be erased as easily as washing away the dirt and sweat from mucking out the horses.

Less bloody, but still feeling dirty and wrong, he did up his breeches and found a ratty blanket which he slung over his shoulders to hide his damaged clothing.

He caught sight of Unwin’s large body, crumpled like a pile of Arthur’s dirty clothing, as he inched slowly towards the door. Bile rose in his throat, his stomach churning as the full impact of the night’s events hit him. His body folded in half, he heaved and retched, the taste of blood mixing with bile in his mouth, his muscles seizing and locking in contorted positions, his whole body protesting. As if any of this could be undone.

* * *

 He couldn’t look at Gaius, whose face was creased with worry, as the court physician carefully dressed the cut that had bisected Merlin’s carotid and ended just above his collarbone in clean white bandages.

“Merlin, I need to know if you’re hurt anywhere else.” He only registered that Gaius was speaking when the old man gently rested his hand above his knee. He jerked back and would have tumbled from the stool if not for the sturdy table at his back, his eyes darting right and left, missing Gaius’ comforting face entirely because there was Unwin, leering at him from the door, slumped underneath the worktable, sweaty against his back, sunk down on the steps to Merlin’s room.

Gaius sat back on his chair and Merlin was glad for the additional space and for the softly spoken reassurances that tethered him to reality, stopped him from drifting off into the darkness of his mind. Gradually, the familiarity and warmth of the court physician’s quarters wove a comforting blanket over his frayed nerves. But he still felt raw, unsettled, wrong. His magic was running havoc in his body, an alien force that he could no longer grasp and wield as he pleased, as if it was angry with him. Or maybe he was the one who was angry.

“Bed.” He only belatedly became aware that he had spoken, interrupting Gaius mid-word.

“Of course, my boy.” Gaius reached out a hand as if to help him to his feet, but Merlin couldn’t bring himself to be touched and got up on his own, stabilising himself against the desk when he was overcome with vertigo.

Gaius hovered until Merlin had safely landed in his bed, huddling under the blankets but not bothering to take off his clothes. “Drink this, it’ll help you sleep.” Merlin would have protested against the small bottle that was pressed against his lips, but he didn’t think that he’d be able to fall asleep without the aid of one of Gaius’ potions and the thought of spending what little remained of the night replaying the events over and over in his mind was even more abhorrent than risking the defencelessness of medicine-induced sleep. So he drank without protest and closed his eyes, knowing that Gaius would take it as a sign to leave.

“I’ll be outside should you need me,” Gaius said softly, worry heavy in his tone. Again, Merlin wanted to say something, to reassure his mentor, but the words were stuck in his throat and the door to his room closed with a soft snick. He opened his eyes and stared out of the window, not seeing the bright stars nor the waning moon.

* * *

_Feel free to review, if you'd like..._


	2. In the Name of Destiny

_(The knife against his throat... in his throat... magic surrounding his hands... blood... death...)_

There was a scream trapped in his throat and maybe that was why he was jerked from sleep, why he was left gasping in panicked breaths. Merlin curled up on his side, resting his forehead against his knees and feeling his magic burst out of him, enveloping him in soothing warmth, asking for forgiveness and offering protection Merlin was only too glad to accept. His heart beat finally calmed down and he became aware of the painful pressure on his side, the itchiness of his clothes, the pulsing ache in his throat.

It was still dark out, probably closer to midnight than to dawn, but it no longer kept him in bed or in these clothes. He got up, grimacing at the way the movement pulled at his bruised back, and started to peel the bloody tunic off of his body, throwing it into the far off corner. It had been blue, worn soft with age and too thin for the winter months but just right for the warmer seasons. Now it was ruined; even if Merlin managed to magically wash out all the blood, he’d never wear it again. It went up in flames, leaving an acrid smell in Merlin’s room, slight scorch marks on the wall. He felt a little better.

There was a pallet of water underneath the window sill, but it wouldn’t be enough to wash all the rusty redness from his body. Not nearly enough. Once more his magic reacted without Merlin’s conscious thought, producing a bathtub that steamed with warm water and maybe even some of the fragrant oils that Arthur favoured. As he sank into the water, he tried to stay focused on what was necessary, the simple absolutions of cleaning his body. Warm water over cold skin _(rough hands and slobbering lips)_ , careful with the bandages, _(piercing pain)_ , don’t think _(entertain us, little bird_ ).

The water was red when he stepped out of the tub and wrapped himself in his blanket and he couldn’t look away from it, like he was once more in the Crystal Cave, seeing things he was never supposed to see. Closing his eyes didn’t help, if anything it made it worse ( _the smell of burnt flesh)_ and he desperately cast around for something to keep his mind occupied. Arthur’s torn clothing would have to do _._ His mother had shown him how to thread the needle, how to keep his stitches small and even, how to repair even the longest tear, how to salvage what could be salvaged.He’d put the knowledge to good use ever since he’d come to Camelot, for Arthur, always for Arthur. It was his destiny to protect the young king, now more than ever, to lead him to greatness. That was his purpose, the purpose of his magic _(lightning on his hands)._

He took the two shirts and one pair of breeches over to the window, sitting down on the sill, and murmured a quiet _leoht_ , the magical ball of light illuminating his work and the quick movements of the needle. Nothing else, just him and Arthur’s rent clothing. His hands shook from time to time, whenever a memory intruded into his peaceful routine ( _heavy breaths_ ), but something in him settled. It would be all right. Ultimately, what was the difference between last night and an attack by a group of bandits, pissed of sorcerers, some magical creature? Same old. He didn’t believe his own reasoning and briefly wondered if anyone else would, but then reminded himself that no-one would know. Just another secret to keep.

The sun was starting to peek over the horizon when he finished with his needlework and his magic light dimmed until it was completely gone, leaving him feeling cold and bereft. He got dressed quickly, choosing his only other pair of breeches and a new tunic, wincing slightly when lifting his arms pulled on the cut down his throat, when the rough fabric rasped over his bruises. His usual neckerchief wouldn’t hide the wound or the bandages, so he picked up two of vaguely the same colour, wrapping one tight around his throat and the other more loosely over it. It made him feel like he couldn’t breathe, like someone was strangling him, and magic whipped around him like a storm, chasing away the non-existent attacker _(blood in his lungs)_.

Before he had calmed down completely there was a soft knock on his door and Gaius’ voice reached him through the wood. “Merlin? The king has requested that we both meet him in the stables. Do you want me to tell him that you’re unwell so that you can rest?”

A violent shiver raced down his back. The stables. Before the day had even started. Merlin didn’t need to guess what had Arthur demanding their presence. He thought he might be sick again.

“Merlin? Are you... Did you hear me?” Merlin was inordinately grateful that Gaius had changed his question, if only because he could keep his lies to a minimum.

“Yes, I’m coming,” he called back because Arthur needed him and nothing had happened, nothing out of the ordinary. He pulled the door open.

“I’m sure Arthur will understand...” Gaius started, but Merlin stepped around him and made his way to his king _(the stables)_ , Gaius following behind.

The stables looked different in the dim morning light, the horses pushing their heads into the aisle in expectation of food and Llamrei brushing her soft nose over his jacket when he passed her stall. And then there was Arthur, dressed in the padded shirt he usually wore under his chainmail, and with his hair looking like spun gold when the first timid rays of sunlight hit it, his broad shoulders and regal stance, it was easy to see why Gwen had fallen in love with him, why the druids were so convinced that he would bring about a new era.

“Are you even listening?” Arthur demanded, huffing when Merlin gave him a blank stare. “How is it that you’re even more useless today, after I gave you the night off? Were you at the tavern again?” He sounded exasperated, Merlin thought, and maybe he should have stopped at the tavern just to merit that exasperation.

“No,” he replied, but Arthur had already turned his attention to Gaius, indicating the sunken form on the straw-covered floor. “Stable boys found him this morning. They first thought he had drunk over his limit and was sleeping it off. Of course, when they tried to wake him they found those.”

Merlin couldn’t look at whatever had got the stable boys’ attention, frozen at a brush of memory and unable to shake it off. Gaius moved through his line of vision, kneeling down to start his examination, and Merlin felt nausea rise in his throat because he knew what his mentor would find and it wouldn’t be good.

“Can you determine if that is what killed him?” Arthur asked, nodding his head towards the dead knight and Merlin wasn’t fast enough in looking away when Gaius shifted slightly and revealed parts of a naked chest, hand prints burnt into the skin.

“There is blood on his clothes, but I can find no other wounds.” Gaius said in his usual measured tone.

“So he must have wounded whoever killed him,” Arthur concluded and Merlin detected the note of pride and satisfaction in his tone.

“Got him good, too,” Gwaine – Merlin hadn’t even noticed him before, still fighting against the panic that threatened to overwhelm him – spoke up, using the pitchfork to lift up clumps of bloody straw before letting it trickle back down. “No expert here, but that looks like a lot of blood.”

“Indeed,” Gaius confirmed, darting a worried glance at Merlin. “Judging by the amount of blood, it would have been a fatal wound.”

“You mean, if magic had not been involved.” It was amazing how much like Uther Arthur now sounded, the same disgust, fear, resolve in his tone, the same instant condemnation. “Those burn marks are clearly the work of magic.”

“It would appear so, Sire,” Gaius inclined his head; Merlin dug his fingers into his thighs.

“His clothes are in disarray, his breeches are undone.” Merlin had to swallow before he could continue, didn’t dare to meet Arthur’s gaze. “People lose their inhibitions when they’re drunk, cross lines they shouldn’t have crossed.”

“I can attest to that!” Gwaine exclaimed, jovially clapping Merlin on the back, his grin bright and too close, dimming slightly when the younger man jerked out of his grasp, stumbling away from him.

Arthur scowled. “Merlin. If this is your way of complaining about me asking you to do your job last night, this isn’t the time. Not with a knight dead and his murderer on the loose.”

“He might not have been the victim, and it might not have been murder,” Merlin answered as desperation clawed up his gut. “Maybe it was self-defence.”

He could feel the weight of Arthur’s gaze on him like gold swirls under his skin, making his magic sing as it always did, joyful and protective and fearless. So unlike himself.

“Some knights do get rather handsy with the servants, especially after tournaments and festivities,” Gwaine unexpectedly came to his help, reminding Merlin of the young man who had never wanted to be a knight. “Maybe he picked someone who knew how to fend off his advances.”

“Be that as it may,” Arthur said after a short pause. “I cannot jeopardise the newly forged peace with Queen Annis by not investigating the death of one of her knights and bringing whoever is responsible to justice.”

“What kind of justice is it if you punish someone for not wanting to be violated?” Merlin tried to hit the right balance of annoyance and reprimand, the one that usually made Arthur take him seriously, but his voice came out shrill and uneven.

“Using magic is against the law,” the king insisted and something in Merlin went cold, beyond rage or despair. “I cannot risk the future of this kingdom based on the off-chance that this might have been an isolated incidence.”

The coldness spread, sunk into his bones, wrapped around his heart like a curse, poisoned his blood with anger and pain and hatred. He knew then that it was over. Arthur was still giving orders to start searching the lower town, question the guards and stable hands, check the inn and tavern, but Merlin realised that they no longer meant anything to him. His gaze flitted around the stables, inevitably landed on Unwin’s dead body, and his world narrowed down to the charred handprints on his chest. His own handprints, forever burnt into Unwin’s skin, even if that wasn’t what had killed him. How Merlin had killed him. An unfortunate landing, a broken neck, almost like an accident, if it hadn’t been for that flash of relief.

“Merlin!” Arthur snapped his fingers in front of his face. “What are you waiting for?”

Merlin had no idea what Arthur wanted from him. Ready the horses? Fetch him breakfast? Clean his rooms? Alert the knights? “I was going to help out Gaius.” He didn’t make it a question or a request, didn’t imply that it was up to Arthur to grant him permission.

“Really?” Arthur furrowed his brow in thought. “I suppose it wouldn’t hurt for you to be useful **somewhere**.”

“I’m running low on thyme and sage, Sire,” Gaius answered Arthur’s questioning look. “I would like to stock up on these herbs before the next outbreak of the common cold.”

“Very well.” Arthur nodded, said something suitably derisive about Merlin’s skills as a servant, but Merlin had already turned away, heading out of the stables and towards Gaius’ quarters at a brisk pace as his old life flaked off of him in shards and smithers, leaving him bare and bleeding.

When he reached his room, he looked around for a moment, hoping that the familiarity would spark something in him, give him an alternative to what he was about to do. But the pain in his chest merely doubled, his magic flared angrily, dark and foreign, and he started to gather his things, bundling up some clothes, taking the magic book out of the hidy-hole under his bed and only remembered his wound when he was hit by a sudden spell of light-headedness. Blood loss, no food and too much moving around. It wasn’t surprising and it didn’t change anything. He sat down heavily on his bed for a moment but started moving again when he felt more stable.

“Since when do you need to bring all your things to collect herbs, my boy?” Gaius’ voice stopped him before he could reach the outer door and when he turned around he found that he had walked right past him without even noticing.

“I can’t do this anymore, Gaius,” Merlin said, felt something in him shrivel up at the admission. “I can’t stay here.”

“Sit down,” Gaius ordered and he couldn’t but obey. “This isn’t a discussion to be had with one step already out of the door.”

“There’s nothing to discuss,” Merlin returned, folding his hands in his lap and twisting his fingers around each other. “You heard Arthur. Magic is against the law, defending yourself with magic is against the law. I doubt he’d consider using magic to protect your king to be just.”

“The law can change,” Gaius insisted and Merlin wished he could still believe that. “You’re upset, Merlin, probably still in shock, but you cannot throw away your life here because of one foul knight and what he tried to do to you.”

Merlin noticed the wince Gaius couldn’t suppress and was glad that the physician had framed it in such bland, vague terms, not giving voice to his suspicions.

“That’s not why I have to leave,” he said, wondering if that was the whole truth, if a part of him wasn’t just afraid that there would be a next time where he lost more than control over his magic. “I killed a man, Gaius, I killed him and I was **relieved**. How can I convince Arthur that magic can be used for good when it doesn’t even feel that way anymore? Maybe Uther was right, maybe magic corrupts everyone.”

“You can’t believe that,” Gaius sounded scandalised, but Merlin only felt tired. “You’ve done so much good with your magic, for Arthur. He’s grown so much since you came into his life. He is a better man, a better king because of your influence. You have to realise that.”

“What about me, Gaius?” Merlin questioned, embarrassed when his eyes started to burn with tears. “I haven’t become a better man. Five years ago I couldn’t kill a fly with my magic and yesterday I didn’t even have to think about it. I can’t continue like this, protecting Arthur and hoping, desperately, that one day he’ll change his mind about magic. Sacrificing everyone and everything to ensure his destiny. Turning my back on people like me. Burying my friends.” He dug his nails into the palms of his hands to contain his tears and took a deep breath to be able to continue. “Arthur is more set in his hatred against magic than ever before and I have nothing more to give. If I stay, I’ll turn dark and twisted like...” He broke off, but they both knew whose name he had stopped himself from saying. “I can’t stay.”

* * *

The water lapped in gentle waves at the shore, a soft breeze weaved through the reeds and the leaves of the trees, a few birds sang. The natural melody soothed Merlin’s soul, made him feel less brittle, less like he would shatter at the slightest touch. Gaius had let him go, but Merlin knew that the older man still assumed he would only be gone for a couple of weeks at the most, go home to let his mother’s loving embrace and simple cooking pamper him back into higher spirits. The idea had been tempting, but Merlin doubted it would help in the long run and he didn’t want to be where Arthur might find him if he was inclined to come looking. And then there was Gwen, who was staying with his mother for the time being, sweet, kind Gwen, who had only just lost Arthur and Lancelot in one fell swoop and whose questions he wouldn’t be able to answer without lying. More than anything he was tired of that.

He sighed and leaned back onto his hands, letting the sun warm his face as he looked over the smooth surface of the lake. Freya’s lake. He had finally crossed the line he had come so close to crossing when she had still been alive, when his love for her had made him forget about duty and destiny, about Arthur. Memories of her timid smile and her fearsome roar made his heart ache, gave rise to fantasies of how they could have grown old together, how she could have had a happy life if only she hadn’t been cursed.

He thought of Lancelot as well, and the pain was sharper, fresher, tinged with bitterness because Morgana’s plan had destroyed more than Arthur and Gwen’s relationship. It had destroyed a noble man’s reputation and Lancelot didn’t deserve to be remembered as the knight who stole his king’s bride. Not after everything he had sacrificed. Lancelot had been a good man and Merlin’s truest friend. Without Lancelot’s calm optimism as a pillar of support, he had felt the whole crushing weight of his destiny. Maybe, if Lancelot were still alive, he would have found a way to follow his destiny and not lose himself in the process. Too late now.

The skin under the bandage on his neck itched and as he carefully peeled the gauze away, he found the skin puckered into an angry red scar, flakes of blood coming off under his finger tips. He shuddered at a memory, wondered again if Gaius was right and this was a reaction born out of shock and terror. Out of a sense of betrayal because Arthur had refused to protect him, had disavowed his right to protect himself. He didn’t want to look at it that way, didn’t want to think about it really.

Instead he slipped out of his shirt, wetted one of the neckerchiefs he had taken off earlier and began to wash away the blood, the cool water soothing the irritated skin and helping him to feel less like something broken beyond repair. He sat for a moment enjoying the sunlight, wondering if he could get a bit more colour on his pasty complexion, but then shrugged his shirt back on again as the wind made him shiver. He wondered, too, when Arthur would realise that he had not returned from his supposed errand for Gaius. When his room was cold and messy in the evening? When his dinner did not magically migrate from the kitchens onto his table? When there was no one to draw him a bath after training? When he had to write his own speeches? His heart clenched as he thought of less harmless ways, with an arrow or blade finding its intended target, a curse that did not suddenly run its course, a beast that did not conveniently drop dead while everyone was knocked unconscious. Would he figure it out then, that he had had help all this time or would it be too late?

Nausea rose at the thought and he quickly pushed it away. He had chosen to leave not because he didn’t know that his decision was fraught with danger, but because not leaving was no longer an option. He did not want to become the thing Arthur hated, feared with good reason.

* * *

 He must have drifted off into sleep, exhaustion and shock catching up with him, and when he woke again, the sun had disappeared behind the mountains, sending its last golden rays over the rippling surface of the lake so that it shone like liquid fire. The sound of giant wings was in the air and he had just enough time to sit up and tug his clothes back into place, before Kilgharrah executed a more graceful landing than should be possible for such a large beast.

“What a curious place to find you, young warlock.” The dragon carefully folded his wings and shifted his impressive weight about, before he released an infinitely smaller reptilian from his clawed hold.

Aithusa, looking fragile and almost translucent, shook herself, stretched her wings and arched her back before she turned to Merlin and greeted him with an enthusiastic screech. “Why did you carry her? Is there something wrong with her?” Merlin asked, his worry easing slightly when Aithusa threw herself at him like an overeager puppy, her dry scales scratching against his cheek.

“Her wings are small yet, not accustomed to long flights,” Kilgharrah answered with no small amount of fondness, watching as Aithusa clambered all over Merlin, making guttural purring sounds that reminded him strangely of a cat.

“How has she been?” Merlin asked, glad for the chance to postpone the inevitable conversation about why he was here and not at Arthur’s side.

“She caught her first fish this morning,” the Great Dragon proclaimed in a tone that implied an important rite of passage. “We shall see how she does with birds soon.”

“Right,” Merlin murmured, gently tracing along the nubby edge of Aithusa’s wings. “When will she learn to speak? To spew fire? How long till she’s fully grown?”

“A dragon’s life cannot be measured in winters and summers,” Kilgharrah replied and Merlin had the clear impression that he was being chided. “A human lifetime is but a blink of an eye.”

“I take it that means it’ll be a while,” Merlin answered sarcastically, still petting the small white dragon and feeling the mounting silence like a weight on his chest. He supposed it was a futile attempt to outwait a dragon, especially after Kilgharrah had just admonished him for his impatience, but he was still unwilling to breach the subject and go through another harrowing discussion about his reasons.

So they both allowed the silence to grow, Kilgharrah’s golden eyes resting on him with serene interest that nonetheless pierced Merlin like a sword. Aithusa eventually settled down, her head resting on Merlin’s thigh and the tip of her tail only sporadically flicking anymore. Her eyes were still open, but directed inwards to whatever dreamscape dragons retreated to in their sleep. Kilgharrah was looking at him as if he had all the time and not a care in the world, looking through Merlin, into Merlin, probably reading the bruises and scars as if they were more talkative than the man wearing them.

Merlin finally couldn’t take it anymore. “You said once that Morgana and I are not the same, but I’m starting to feel exactly like she must have felt: alone and scared of myself. You said it was my destiny to protect Arthur, to change his mind about magic, and help him unite the lands of Albion, but it’s beyond my strength.”

“Your powers are great, young warlock, but even you cannot escape your destiny,” Kilgharrah’s voice reverberated in his head like it was wont to do. “That, indeed, is beyond your strength.”

“You didn’t seem to think destiny was quite all that when you attacked Camelot,” Merlin retorted, some of the old anger bursting forth. “You didn’t care about Albion then.”

“My destiny lies with you, Merlin, not with Albion,” Kilgharrah replied with soft amusement in his eyes as he stretched out next to Merlin and Aithusa, circling them with his tail. “I could no more unravel myself from you than you can unravel yourself from Arthur.”

“What if the price is too high?” Merlin whispered, not sure if he wanted Kilgharrah to hear him. “How can it be my destiny to turn into... a monster?”

“It is not, young warlock,” Kilgharrah answered, surprisingly gentle. “You are the very essence of magic.”

“Magic can become twisted, dark. It may not be inherently evil, but it’s not inherently good, either.” Merlin countered, looking down at Aithusa curled up form and wondering if she would still be so trusting if she knew that he had killed a man. “And these last few years in Camelot - ” He sighed heavily and broke off. “I’ve changed, Kilgharrah, and not for the better.”

“Change is inevitable.” Kilgharrah was laughing at him again and yes, probably, Merlin’s self-doubt must seem laughable to a thousand-year-old creature who had seen the rise and fall of kings, the emerging and destruction of settlements, the formidable power of nature and the might of magic. “Maybe it’s time you made a conscious decision to do so, instead of merely adapting to the circumstances.”

“I did,” Merlin protested, daring to lean back against Kilgharrah’s warm side and receiving a huff for his trouble. “That’s what I did.”

“And it also looks suspiciously like you’re running away,” Kilgharrah answered, almost dislodging Merlin when he shifted slightly. “Instead of running towards something.”

“I can’t go back to Camelot,” Merlin murmured.

Kilgharrah let the silence grow for a moment. “The druid council will meet in a few days’ time. You’re not without allies and I’m not the only one who believes in your destiny, young warlock. They’ll be glad to welcome you.”

“I won’t turn against Arthur,” Merlin warned, but finally felt part of the weight lift from his shoulders. Kilgharrah was right, he needed a new strategy, a new approach, not a new destiny.


	3. Other Paths

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some of the characters that appear in this chapter are borrowed from series 5. However, I reveal nothing about the roles they play in canon, so even if you haven't watched the later episodes yet you should be safe from spoilers.

Kilgharrah had landed an hour’s walk from where the druids were congregating so as not to cause a stir. Merlin was grateful for the time to collect his thoughts, prepare for what might happen. He followed the stream Kilgharrah had indicated, carefully monitoring his surroundings to make sure that he remained alone and wouldn’t accidentally lead an enemy right to the druid camp. After a while he could hear stray thoughts in his mind, just fragments brushing past on their way to whomever they had been intended for and he knew he was on the right track, even if there was no path visible, no signs of human presence in the thick woods. It was good work and Merlin was glad that they had made sure to be safe.

When he stepped through the invisible barrier that kept the druids hidden, there was a small tug on his magic and suddenly he was surrounded by druids, some in deep discussion, others cooking or preparing vegetables, a few children running around. Then, one by one, they fell silent as they became aware of the intruder, before someone mentally called out “Emyrs” and it spread like wildfire in the camp. Merlin halted his steps, not wanting them to feel threatened, and tried to determine who was in charge.

“Emrys, we are honoured that you decided to join us,” Iseldir stepped forward, pushing back the hood of his cloak and revealing his wavy grey hair.

“Thank you,” Merlin answered politely, cautiously walking towards the druid chieftain, whom he recognised from his quest for the dragon’s egg. “I hope I’m not intruding.”

“You are very welcome, Emrys,” another druid spoke up, one Merlin had never seen before, dark-skinned and younger than Merlin would have expected. “My name is Hamo from the Mountains of Isgaard.”

“You must be hungry and tired,” Iseldir intervened. “Sit down, have something to eat while we make introductions.”

Merlin only then realised that he hadn’t eaten anything since before his hasty escape from Camelot. He hadn’t thought to bring provisions and his churning thoughts had distracted him from the demands of his stomach. But now, much to Merlin’s mortification, his stomach growled audibly and the corners of Iseldir’s mouth lifted in amusement. He was led to one of the larger fires, blankets surrounding it, and soon found himself with a plate of warm stew in his hands and a number of druids sitting around him. Merlin would have felt more self-conscious, but the stew smelled so fantastic and his hunger was so great that he tucked in without further ado.

While he ate the druids introduced themselves, offering more or less information about who they were, where they came from, who had accompanied them. There were Ari and Ruadan, both strong men with serious expressions who treated him with polite suspicion and gave little away. Dreda, a matronly druid with a kind smile who had led her clan all the way from the Darkling Woods and admitted to having made the stew, greeted him with a kind smile and a second helping of stew. Merlin smiled warmly at her and reinforced his compliments by taking another large bite. Hamo was sitting next to a druid elder, who hadn’t taken his eyes off of Merlin, weighing him in silence. He hadn’t said a word yet, not even his name, and Merlin wasn’t about to press.

“It is good that you came now,” Iseldir addressed him again when he had finished his meal. “Dreda just arrived this morning and we were about to start. Our council will be that much more fruitful with you present.”

Merlin carefully put the empty bowl down next to him. “Forgive me, I’m afraid I don’t know what will be discussed here.”

“There has been unrest among the druids, dissatisfaction with the situation, concerns that it might be unwise to continue on the set path,” Hamo answered slowly. “The druids have always been a peaceful people, but we have lost many friends under the Pendragons’ rule. Maybe too many.”

A shiver raced down Merlin’s back at the soft words, a sense of foreboding that the new method he had hoped for would be far more drastic than he had envisioned.

Ruadan’s eye had twitched, deep furrows appearing around his mouth, and he spoke up before Merlin could find his voice. “It is time Arthur Pendragon learned the true strength of the druids. Let’s pay them back their hatred in kind.”

“That is not what I’m here for,” Dreda argued, brushing a strand of curly brown hair out of her rounded face. “We are druids, healers, helpers of the people. Not executioners. Our ways have always been peaceful; the Pendragons won’t change that. At least not for me.”

“With all due respect,” Ruadan retorted, “but the time for naivety and wishful thinking is over. How many more have to die before you open your eyes?”

“I too have lost loved ones, Ruadan,” Dreda replied with a warning edge in her voice. “But we do not honour their memory by going against everything they believed in. Your wife wouldn’t have wanted you to start a war.”

Ruadan looked down, sadness clouding his clear blue eyes and his shoulders slumping in defeat. Instead Ari spoke up, “It is not we who have started this war, but together we have the power to finally end it in our favour. Why should we keep the peace when Arthur turned out to be very much his father’s son? Why should we bide our time for another more merciful ruler, when we could help a powerful sorceress onto her rightful throne?”

“Morgana Pendragon is no more a friend of the druids than the King,” Hamo warned. “She may speak gentle words and make grand promises, but her motives are selfish. She did nothing for the druids when she sat on Camelot’s throne.”

It went back and forth like that for a long while, Ruadan and Ari demanding decisive action, Hamo and Dreda pleading for level-headedness and patience, Iseldir trying to prevent an escalation and the unnamed druid keeping his silence. The other druids gathered around them, forming a larger circle around the fire, listening attentively, murmuring in assent or dissent. Some of the children had fallen asleep in their mother’s laps or curled up around each other under thick blankets. It was a strangely peaceful picture, contrary to the heated words that were exchanged, and Merlin felt a bit lost. He listened to the different opinions, his heart clenching whenever someone railed against Arthur or threatened him, but didn’t know what he could possible add. He had known that the druids had had a hard lot under Uther and that nothing had changed since Arthur had ascended the throne, but he hadn’t really been aware of how many had been killed by Camelot’s knights, had been turned away when they asked for food or shelter, how much they had actually suffered.

“So what is it that you’re suggesting?” Ruadan raised his voice angrily. “For us to lie down in the dirt, waiting for Pendragon to drive us to extinction? To hide until even that fails? To believe in an ancient prophesy and trust a boy who has betrayed us all?”

All eyes turned to Merlin and he shrunk under the attention ( _entertain us_ ), wishing fervently that he had mastered the disappearing act some sorcerers had been capable of.

“I left Camelot,” he brought out. “But I didn’t leave Arthur and I will stop anyone who wishes him harm. You can trust me on that.”

“No one wants you as an enemy, Emrys,” Ari answered, leaning slightly forward so that the fire threw his creased forehead into sharp relief. “But war demands sacrifices and there have been too many on our side.”

“How do you plan to win this war?” Merlin demanded, the threat to Arthur’s safety loosening his tongue. “The people fear magic, and believe me they have plenty of reason to. That won’t change if you kill their king. For all his faults, Arthur loves his people and they love him. They only hold fear and hatred for Morgana. You will do yourself no favours by allying with her.”

“Morgana wants the same things that we want,” Ruadan retorted. “She wants to live in freedom, to practise her magic without fear. It might take some time, but she can change Camelot for the better. She will do more for us than your Arthur.”

His Arthur. Arthur wasn’t his, his destiny, sure, but he had no claim over him. Arthur wasn’t his, but Merlin would always be Arthur’s. “Morgana sacrificed her sister on the Isle of the Blessed; she rent the veil between the worlds. She has no respect for the sacred laws of magic, for the balance of the world, is that someone you want on the throne?” Merlin asked sharply.

“And whose fault is that?” Ruadan asked poisonously. “Uther turned his own daughter against him, made sure that she could never feel safe in his kingdom. Like all of us.”

“Uther is dead,” Hamo intervened. “We have enough to discuss without prolonging a dead man’s quarrel. Camelot has a new king now, a king of prophesy, should we not trust in his destiny?”

“Even as Camelot flowers, so the seeds of her destruction are being sewn,” the nameless druid suddenly spoke up, startling everyone into tense silence. His eyes drifted past Merlin to the side and when Merlin followed his gaze, he felt his throat constrict. Between two other children, a red-haired girl and a small boy, lay Mordred. He had grown since the last time Merlin had seen him, but his features and dark curly hair were unmistakable. Arthur’s killer was innocently sleeping only a few feet away. Merlin felt sick.

“Lochru, have you seen the future? Something to help us?” Dreda asked, resting a gentle hand on the old man’s knee, but receiving no answer. His gaze had turned inwards again.

“It’s clear, is it not?” Ari insisted. “This is the time to act, to resolve this war once and for all. Or we’ll all pay for our patience with our lives.”

“Maybe if we reached out to Arthur, showed him that we mean him no harm,” Dreda argued, looking at Merlin for support he wasn’t sure he could give her.

“Arthur just lost his father and he blames magic,” Merlin said reluctantly, tearing his gaze away from Mordred. “I’m not sure he would be receptive to your arguments.”

“The time for words is over!” Ruadan snapped. “Even you must have realised that, Emrys. Or why are you here?”

Merlin swallowed, once again feeling dozens of pairs of eyes on him. “I believe in Arthur. I believe that he will be a great king, a just king. But I don’t know how to help him fulfil his destiny. That’s why I’m here. To help Arthur.”

“Your destiny does not begin and end with Arthur,” Dreda said kindly, reaching out to grasp his hand. Merlin shied back despite himself, feeling guilty when she only sent him another gentle smile. “You are a great man, Emrys, and you will find a way to free magic of its constraints. I put my trust in you, whatever you think best, you have my support.”

“And mine,” Hamo agreed, his white teeth gleaming in the dark.

Ruadan scoffed audibly, kicking a small stone into the flames. “This is getting us nowhere. We are talking in circles, arguing amongst ourselves when our real problem sits in his castle and doesn’t even acknowledge our position. By all means, let us send an envoy to try to reason with the king, to appeal to his sense of justice, but when that is met with predictable results, we need to take a stand and fight.”

Heavy silence enveloped them and Merlin felt claustrophobic with dread and exhaustion. This was it, then, another bridge about to burn, another impossible choice, another betrayal.

“I cannot stand idly by if you decide to move against Camelot,” Merlin said softly, looking first at Ruadan and then at each of the druid chieftains. “I understand your frustration, your anger, but my loyalty will always be with Arthur, whether that is wise or not. I am sorry.”

He stood up, not bearing the many looks, some sympathetic, some vindicated, any longer.

“Emrys, please, I might have another option. For all of us.” Iseldir stood up, compelling Merlin to sink back down. “You were all right when you remarked on the peaceful nature but also the strength of the druids. But we have another advantage: our knowledge.

“If we work together, we can end this war without further bloodshed, peacefully, but decisively. We can give Arthur exactly what he wants: a kingdom free of magic.”

“How?” Ari asked, a mixture of scepticism and hope in his voice. “Surely you do not suggest that we just abandon our homes.”

“Of course not.” Iseldir shook his head. “Let me explain.”

* * *

“Are you ready, Emrys?” Iseldir asked softly.

Merlin met his eyes, then looked at the other druid chieftains in turn. “Yes,” he said and it was a relief to feel the truth behind his words.

He drew up the hood of the woollen cloak he’d been given, his fingers brushing over the pale scar and the black ink that marked his past and his new allegiance _(blood on his hands)_.

“Are we sure there are no more visitors at the castle?” he had his voice under control, no quaver, no hesitance, but he couldn’t stop the shiver that raced down his back.

“The last group left two days ago. They must have reached Mercia by now,” Hamo reported. “And except for a small patrol sent out to the Northern Plains, all of Camelot’s knights are within the city walls.”

“Ryia is shadowing their movements and will capture them safely when they turn back,” Ruadan said and Merlin knew that he had added the “safely” for his benefit. “We should move now when the chance of discovery is still minimal.”

“All right. Take your positions and make sure to stay hidden. I’ll start the incantation when the moon is at its highest. Be ready.”

They inclined their heads, wasting no more words before disappearing like shadows beneath the thick canopy of trees. Only Lochru stayed at his side, silent and withdrawn but somehow comforting. The plan had sounded ludicrous at first, improbable in its simplicity and Merlin had not been the only one sceptical. But in the end, it had meant a chance to force Arthur to reconsider the ban on magic without any more bloodshed, without turning his back on what he believed in. A chance, a fool’s hope, a new way to achieve his destiny, something. It was more than he had expected.

Kilgharrah had been mostly unhelpful, of course, speaking in riddles or not at all, roaring with laughter when Merlin had first informed him about the druids’ idea and flying off before Merlin could really discern his opinion on the matter. But Kilgharrah had never held back when he thought Merlin was making a mistake so Merlin had interpreted his reaction as approval.

The long, heavy cloak felt unfamiliar and the swirls of his tattoo still itched _(knife in his throat)_ from time to time, but for the first time in a long time, Merlin didn’t feel wrong in his own skin, didn’t feel unwelcome or misplaced in his own home. Camelot would always be his home, but the druids had treated him with kindness, given him a spare tent for his use, shared their food with him and respected his need for silence when he didn’t feel like talking, which was often nowadays. Sometimes it still felt like he was choking on his own blood, on his own lies, on Arthur’s disregard of his opinions. But this was a chance.

“Emyrs,” Lochru startled him out of his thoughts, nodding towards the moon when Merlin turned to him. It was time.

“ _Áware, ámundae, áscire_ ,” Merlin started out in a whisper, but then he felt his magic rise with the words, form the shape he commanded until it burst forth from his hands in a blinding white ray, and his words became stronger.

The spell pulled on his magic, reaching for reserves he hadn’t known existed as he tried to keep the stream steady and strong, sending it off along the northwestern city walls, towards where Ari was waiting. It disappeared between the trees, shimmering in all the colours of the rainbow when the moonlight hit it. He could feel the sudden impact when his magic reached Ari, like the impact of Arthur’s sword that forced him to take a step back to keep his balance. He grit his teeth and stood his ground, even as the pull on his magic doubled, then tripled, quadrupled, quintupled as it was directed from one druid to the next, in a wide circle around the castle. And then the circle closed as Lochru caught the stream of magic and sent it upwards where it connected with the four other strands, causing a bright flash that burned Merlin’s eyes. When he could see again, magic was trickling from the sky, like raindrops rolling down an invisible windowpane. The warning bells sounded.

“It is almost done, Emrys,” Lochru said, softly encouraging, but Merlin felt his strength waning, darkness creeping into his vision and the ground suddenly rushing up to beat him in the face.


	4. Kind Words, Kinder Actions

Iseldir’s face was uncomfortably close when he regained consciousness, prying his gritty eyes open, and he instinctively scooted back, feeling every muscle in his body protest the movement.

“I did not mean to alarm you, Emrys,” Iseldir soothed, leaning back to give him some space. “The spell demanded more of your magic than we expected and you have been unconscious for a while.”

“Did it work?” Merlin asked, surprised at how hoarse his voice sounded.

Iseldir handed him a waterskin and threw back the flaps of the tent so that the soft light of mid-morning filtered in. “Look for yourself.”

Merlin cautiously sat up, unwilling to sacrifice his personal space to satisfy his curiosity, and peered around the grey-haired druid. He could see Camelot now, the castle with its many turrets and the mighty stone walls. But while on a clear day like this he would normally have an unobstructed view on the castle, it was now surrounded by an iridescent force field, at times perfectly clear and at times sparkling with light and magic. It had worked.

“The knights and their king have gathered just beyond the city gates,” Iseldir reported, moving aside as Merlin hastily got to his feet and left the tent to have a better look. “As yet they have not tried to breach the barrier with anything other than their arrows and spears.”

“Have you spoken to them yet?” Merlin asked as they joined the other druid elders.

“We have remained hidden so far,” Hamo remarked. “We agreed that you were essential for the negotiations.”

“What? But I’m not even...” _a druid_ , Merlin had wanted to say, but it wasn’t strictly true anymore.

“You are one of us. Only you made this possible,” Dreda said warmly. “We understand that your loyalty belongs to Arthur still, but there’s wisdom in you beyond your years and we trust that you will bring us peace.”

“You know the king best. And you will not be blinded by anger or thoughts of revenge,” Ruadan said, his face darkening with sadness and pain.

“Some of us still struggle to extend our hands in peace,” Ari offered. “Even if we wish for it.”

Merlin would have argued more, but one of the younger druids burst forth from a row of trees, approaching them quickly. “The king demands to speak with you.”

“We shall not keep him waiting,” Iseldir decided and the other druids nodded, curious mixtures of resolve, hope and smugness flittering over their faces.

They turned to follow the druid boy back towards the barrier, their steps measured and dignified as if they had all the time in the world. Merlin pulled the hood of his cloak up over his head, closed it in the front and followed them, still not certain he wanted to be involved in this confrontation, but realising that he could not back out now. It had been their suggestion, their plan, but it was Merlin’s magic and still his destiny.

Up close the barrier was a soaring, glimmering wall, like glass but somehow less tangible, and Merlin could feel how he was connected to it by a prickle on his skin, a tug around his heart. It was an extension of himself and made it seem like he was not all the way in his own body, the magic so strong and all-encompassing that he had to wonder how it had ever been contained in his fragile human shell.

He took his place between Iseldir and Ruadan and suddenly found himself face to face with Arthur, only separated by the barrier and his hood that hopefully obscured his identity. His breath caught in his throat _(the air forced from his lungs)_ and he had to steel himself against taking an instinctive step back.

“Are you the ones responsible for this?” Arthur demanded, his shoulders squared and the metal of his armour blinding in the sunlight; Merlin wondered if George had been the one to polish it and help Arthur put it on.

“Yes,” Iseldir answered after a pause.

A muscle in Arthur’s jaw ticked in irritation. “What is the meaning of this? I demand that you reverse this sorcery immediately.”

“It is not your turn to demand anything, Arthur Pendragon,” Ruadan retorted and Merlin saw Dreda put a calming hand on his arm out of the corner of his eye. “For years we kept our peace; we hid and we cowered, refrained from retaliation when you murdered our wives and children. But no more.”

“We all suffered for your and your father’s wish to rid this kingdom of magic,” Ari spoke up, his voice strong and calm. “Now, we’ve granted your wish. Have your kingdom, free of magic and subject to whatever laws you see fit to impose. But on this side of the barrier we will live our lives in peace and freedom and only when you accept our right to do so will you have the entirety of your kingdom back.”

“This is outrageous, Sire!” Agravaine exclaimed, beads of sweat on his brow as his eyes flitted over the assembled druids, no doubt looking for Morgana. “You cannot negotiate with these hoodlums!”

“Whether you wish to negotiate or not makes little difference to the situation, your Majesty,” Merlin spoke up. “We mean you no harm, but until you can claim the same, this barrier will serve as protection for both our sides.”

“Surely you realise how unreasonable this is,” Arthur retorted, no recognition in his voice or mimic. “Your number is small and even with these dark arts on your side you will not be able to control the people of this kingdom.”

“It is not control we seek, Sire, but freedom,” Merlin replied. “The people of this kingdom have lived too long in fear, fear of magic and fear of persecution. We will try to change that, but even if we fail, we will not go back to living under your merciless rule. Try to take down the barrier, to find a way through or around or under it - you will not succeed. The only way out for you is to negotiate with us. We can wait.”

The soft murmur of long cloaks, careful feet and measured steps marked the end of the first meeting and Merlin turned as well, ignoring the raised voices behind him, Agravaine’s loud protests, Leon’s polite worry, Arthur’s heavy silence.

But even as he left, a part of him remained behind and when Arthur led a charge on what he must have assumed was a weak spot, Merlin felt the assault on his magic, a psychological if not physical pain that made his hands shake _(threats whispered in his ear)_.

“Emrys, are you all right?” Dreda asked, worried. “Here, sit down. You must still be exhausted.”

“I’m fine, Dreda, thank you,” Merlin answered, shaking his head at her offer to sit down. “I think I’m going for a walk, clear my head.”

“Let me come with you,” Hamo offered, cutting off Merlin’s protests. “You are still weakened, Emrys, and these woods are the hunting grounds for bandits.”

Maybe it was the hopeful expression on Hamo’s face, his mother’s insistence on good manners or Arthur having generally ignored his protests, but Merlin couldn’t bring himself to insist that he’d really much rather be alone. And Hamo’s company was surprisingly agreeable as they walked slowly away from the camp, following no clear path or direction. He didn’t ask prying questions or batter him with worried looks, nor did he seem to take offense that Merlin had not regained his propensity for mindless prattling.

“I’m sorry I’m not better company,” Merlin finally said, indicating towards where a small creek promised water and a place to rest.

“There must be a lot on your mind,” Hamo answered as they sat down on two large boulders. “I realise we asked much from you.”

“You didn’t ask anything I wasn’t willing to give,” Merlin returned. “It just sounded a lot simpler in theory.” Less emotionally wrecking to face Arthur from the other side of a clearly drawn line.

“It always does.” Hamo smiled. “But even if it turns out to be a hundred times more complicated than we anticipated, I think it will be worth it. Don’t you?”

“I hope so.” Merlin wished he could share the other druid’s optimism, but feared that something in him was irreversibly broken _(grabby hands on his privates)_. He tried himself on a smile.

“It’s been a long time since we had even that, hope,” Hamo answered, stretching out his legs and following the merry movement of the water with his eyes.

“What would you have done if I hadn’t agreed?” Merlin asked curiously.

“I don’t know. Ruadan has not been the same since his wife died and I believe he would have chosen revenge over caution. Ari also implied that his patience had run its course. Dreda thought about leaving for another kingdom and Iseldir has been steadily edging closer to Essetir. Lochru, who knows?”

“What about you?”

“Our clan is small and the Mountains of Isgaard hold little interest for Camelot’s knights. We’ve been living in peace and we could have continued to do so, but... I’ve heard stories about how it was before Uther decreed the ban on magic, how the druids could move freely and do so much to help the people of this kingdom, how they were respected and even loved. It made me wistful.”

“I know the feeling,” Merlin agreed before they fell back into companionable silence.

* * *

Merlin couldn’t sleep. He tossed and turned in his bedroll only barely managing to avoid uprooting the tent. He had felt better after his walk with Hamo, less downtrodden but still tired, and so he had excused himself to his tent to rest. He had drifted for a while, playing through all the what-ifs he could think of and trying not to let his mind wander to other things _(a broken gaze)_. But he couldn’t sleep.

Darkness had fallen by now and the fires had been dimmed, but through the slightly open tent flap he could still see the magical barrier, all the brighter under the star-spangled sky. It called to him, not like the dragon’s voice in his head, but on a more fundamental level, like his body’s demand for sleep and nourishment. Now his magic demanded, inside and outside of his body, and he couldn’t resist its clamour.

He got up and slipped out of the tent, quickly manoeuvring around the fires, tents and bedrolls. He nodded briefly at the druids who were still awake, keeping watch or simply feeling as restless as Merlin himself, but didn’t stop to talk. His magic was calling. The camp had been set up in a clearing only a short walk from the barrier, framed by several huge boulders and ancient trees, spells layered around the perimeter for protection. But everything was peaceful now and the druids seemed unconcerned about an attack.

As Merlin stepped up to the barrier, it flared briefly, buzzing like a swarm of bees and then settled again along with the rest of Merlin’s magic. For the first time since they had erected the barrier, Merlin felt calmness wash over him and he sank down next to the tangible manifestation of his magic, leaning his shoulder against the wall. He felt whole.

* * *

Arthur had posted guards within shouting distance of each other, just inside the barrier. The attempt to leave the castle via the underground tunnels had failed. It was the third day and they were trying to break through with a battering ram. Merlin wished they would stop because every attempt felt like they were taking a battering ram to his insides. Dreda was beside herself with worry and her concern was making Merlin even more antsy.

It was a relief when Ryia returned, the captured knights in tow with some scrapes and bruises, grumpy and tense, but otherwise unharmed. Elyan looked even more sullen than he had the last few weeks.

“Should we proceed as planned?” Ruadan asked, casting Merlin a sceptical look. “It might be better to wait until you are fully recovered, Emrys.”

“That won’t be necessary,” Merlin replied. “And holding them captive will not improve our standing with the king.”

“It is no longer up to the king to determine our standing,” Ruadan bristled before he deflated slightly. “Another day won’t make a difference to how he regards us.”

Merlin nodded. “I know. But we’ve waited long enough, don’t you think?”

Ruadan sent him a grim smile in agreement as the druids bustled into action, moving the captured knights closer to the barrier before forming a semi-circle around them.

“How can we help?” Hamo moved to his side, watching the knights and their king who had gathered on the other side of the barrier, their swords drawn, their shields at the ready.

“Keep an eye on them,” Merlin said softly, nodding towards Arthur before indicating their prisoners. “And get them ready to move. I don’t want to keep the barrier open longer than necessary.”

“You can draw on our magic, if need be,” Iseldir offered and Merlin nodded gratefully, throwing a worried look at Arthur and trying to fathom if he was likely to attack. “And I think we can at least discourage any rash actions on their part.”

As if they had just waited for his command, the druids closed ranks and magic began to crackle along their lines.

“Hold your positions!” Arthur’s order rang out clear and strong, but Merlin didn’t dare look at him, instead facing his own little army.

“We will not attack, unless provoked,” he raised his voice, a reminder and a warning for both sides. “Please be ready.”

He stepped up to the barrier, ignoring the shocked gasps as the barrier flared, flashed pure white for a moment and then settled into a quiet buzz as his hands hovered a hair’s breadth from the magical wall. “ _Rýme_ ,” he whispered and a slender gap began to form, widening quickly like a seemingly harmless tear in Arthur’s favourite shirt.

Merlin felt the currents of magic reaching out to him, beckoning, but never quite reaching as he used more magic to create an opening in the barrier, leaving him dizzy and weak-kneed.

“You are free to go,” Iseldir’s voice reached him as through a fog, through the clanging in his ears after a training session with Arthur, and he only half-noticed the captured knights being jostled forward, being welcomed back by their brothers in arms, too focused on keeping the magic under control.

An all too familiar battle cry snapped his feeble concentration, magic rushing around him and forcing him to his knees as the druids rebutted the attack with their own spells, filling the air with volatile energy.

“Emrys.” Dreda and Iseldir were at his side, carefully helping him to his feet. “Are you hurt?”

“I’m fine, really.” Merlin brushed off their helping hands as soon as he felt stable on his own two feet. “I was just surprised by the backslash. Is everyone all right?”

“That depends on whom you ask.” Ruadan’s voice was tinted with amusement, something which he had never heard before, though the reason behind it became quite clear when he looked up.

Arthur had seemingly reached the barrier before the druids could throw him back or maybe they had hesitated to attack the King of Camelot. Whatever the case, instead of gaining freedom, Arthur had got stuck halfway through as the barrier reclosed, his left leg caught in the barrier in a raised position. Merlin’s first reaction was worry, closely followed by amusement because Arthur was struggling to keep his balance whilst still trying to ward off the smirking druids with his sword, having moderate success with both. His knights, meanwhile, had gathered on the other side of the barrier, attempting to pull Arthur back inside, but only having managed to rid him of his boot. Merlin was glad the large hood hid his laughter.

“What should we do with him?” Dreda asked, quickly pulling back one of the druid children before the curious boy could get any closer to the stuck king. “Where’s Ethel? She was supposed to mind the children.”

“I’m here. I’m sorry, Dreda, this one must have snuck off while I was telling the others a story,” the petite brown-haired woman apologized, taking the small escapee by the hand and leading him back to the camp. Dark-haired and fair-skinned. It wasn’t Mordred, but Merlin felt his gut clench nonetheless.

“We could always leave him there,” someone suggested after the interruption and a few murmured in agreement.

“I have some old apples, if we wanted to give him a taste of his own medicine,” another woman suggested and Merlin felt slightly ashamed of himself for how perfect he thought that idea, how much he would enjoy seeing Arthur being pelted with rotten fruit and vegetables for once.

Arthur made a sound of protest, half growl, half sputter, while he still kept up the balancing act of trying to remain standing, get free and defend himself. Merlin felt a levity that he wasn’t used to anymore and he only then noticed how much he had missed the good-natured teasing, which had run scarce and stale over the last few months. But Gwaine had got it into his mind to use his sword as a lever to force the barrier around Arthur’s leg open and Merlin was afraid the king might lose his leg if this went on any longer.

“I daresay that did not quite go according to plan, Sire,” Merlin spoke up, glad when the knights focused on him and left Arthur’s leg alone for now. “But I’m happy we could establish that attacking us was no more viable an option than trying to break through the barrier. I think our negotiations will only profit from this new understanding.”

“Negotiations?” Arthur scoffed. “You’re keeping us all prisoners, cutting the people off from food and leaving the rest of the kingdom unprotected from bandits and pillagers. How can you consider this a basis for negotiation?”

“With all due respect, Sire, being killed on sight hardly left us in a better position for negotiation,” it was Ruadan’s objection and Merlin was happy that he almost sounded civil if not exactly friendly.

“Magic has been a scorch on this land, endangering its inhabitants, and everyone who uses it can only be deemed a threat,” Arthur retorted and though his words were angry, they also spoke of hurt and pain over the loss of his father, maybe even his sister.

“Maybe that is a discussion to be had when we’re all more comfortable,” Iseldir suggested mildly and Merlin sent him a grateful look.

“Sire, if you could lower your weapon and hold still, I’ll have you out of there in a few moments. Please refrain from any more attacks,” Merlin said, motioning for the other druids to be ready as he raised his hands again.

Magic began to sing behind him even though Merlin was almost certain that the knights had learned their lesson the last time, that they wouldn’t try to charge through the barrier while it was open. Almost. He carefully observed Arthur, saw him tense and tighten the grip on his sword, but also lower it marginally, and the flick of his fingers that was hard to see from his position but which was clearly directed at Leon. They’d stand down.

Thus reassured Merlin called his magic to him once again, tugged and twisted until Arthur’s foot slipped free and he could assume a practised defensive position. Merlin paid him no heed, trusting the druids to keep Arthur in check while he widened the hole in the barrier, increasing it gradually until it was large enough for the king to step through.

“Sire, if you would join your men?” Iseldir said in the tone of a suggestion.

“And if I don’t?” Arthur demanded; Merlin almost rolled his eyes at how predictable it all was.

“Then I’m afraid we will give you no choice,” Iseldir replied. “And we cannot guarantee that none of your men will be hurt in a second attack.”

Merlin knew that Arthur wouldn’t risk his men needlessly, that he could see that even his best knights were no match for a group of magic-wielding druids, but he just wished he would hurry up because his magic didn’t like this suspended stalemate anymore than he did. Finally, Arthur shifted his weight on his hind leg, then took a small step back, another, and another until the closing barrier no longer touched him.

The world swayed dangerously after he had released his hold on his magic and he was inordinately relieved to find Dreda’s small, sturdy frame tucked under his arm. “You should eat something, rest. I don’t like the colour of you.”

“I could eat,” Merlin answered, thinking with fondness of the fantastic stews and soups Dreda could cook. “And sitting down sounds good.”

Dreda smiled approvingly at him, starting to gently steer him away when Arthur called out once again.

“You have returned my knights unharmed and for that I owe you a debt of gratitude, but what about my manservant?”

“Your manservant?” Iseldir questioned, refraining from looking in Merlin’s direction.

“Merlin. He left a fortnight ago for the Kingdom of Essetir to visit his mother. He should have returned by now so I can only assume that he was detained,” Arthur replied, regarding them suspiciously.

“We released all our prisoners,” Iseldir answered. “And we wish you no harm, much less your manservant, nor do we have any reason to keep him against his will. You have my word.”

“You keep saying that, that you mean us no harm. And yet my people will soon starve to death without the harvest from the outlying villages, which remain unprotected without the knights’ help. I can only guess how your sorcery will affect the water ways.”

“Water will pass unhindered through the barrier,” Iseldir offered. “But we understand your scepticism, Sire. Perhaps this evening’s rain will allay your fears in that respect. We will share what food we have with you and facilitate trade with farming villages as well as offer our protection to them.”

“Why would you do that?” Arthur demanded. “If you are to be believed you have me exactly where you want, Camelot under your control and its king unable to do anything about it. Why would you make such concessions?”

“Camelot has seen much evil done by magic, but has remained ignorant of all the good magic helped accomplish. How can we hope to change that perception if not by letting our kind words be followed by kind actions?” Iseldir asked. “You will have your food by morning, Sire.”


	5. Fair Trade

They left a dozen baskets and sacks with food – vegetables, fruit, corn – just inside the barrier, but while the amount of food must have seemed staggering to the druids and would probably have lasted them well into the winter, Merlin knew that it could never be enough for a castle teeming with knights, noblemen and townsfolk. Instead, they left a note for the king, asking for the means to pay the farmers for their goods. Around midday George approached the barrier with two heavy bags of gold and a fair amount of fear, followed by two stable boys steering two horse-drawn carriages as close to the barrier as the shying horses would go. Then all three of them hastily retreated. Merlin could see a blurry figure watching them from the highest torrent as they opened the barrier and coaxed the horses through.

“I suppose this can be taken as a good sign,” Hamo stated optimistically, petting the horse he had been leading. “No further discussion or demonstrations of mistrust and no attacks. I’d say we’re making progress.”

Merlin wasn’t quite so confident, but had to agree that this passive wariness was preferable to open hostility.

“You’re quiet, Emrys,” Hamo remarked when he didn’t receive an answer. “Is something worrying you?”

“Not more than usual, no,” Merlin answered, trying himself on a smile. “Just lost in thought, I guess.”

“I’m here if you want to talk – so is Ethel,” the druid said, making as if to clap his shoulder but then stopped when he noticed Merlin tense.

“Ethel?” Merlin asked in surprise, wondering how the kind but withdrawn woman entered into their conversation.

“She discovered her magic when her village was attacked by raiders,” Hamo explained softly. “Her daughter was born nine months later.”

“Oh,” Merlin murmured.

“I understand it sometimes helps to talk about these things, even if it isn’t easy,” Hamo continued.

“Why do you think...? What makes you say...?” Merlin broke off, not sure how to finish his questions.

“We all know that something must have happened to make you leave the king’s side,” Hamo said gently. “And Ethel recognised your behaviour and pointed it out to me... You don’t have to confirm it or much less justify yourself, just know that you’re not alone and that we’re here if you wish to share your burdens, whatever nature they might be.”

Merlin wasn’t sure he could justify what he had done, so far off from what Hamo suspected and still uncomfortably close to what had been implied, and so he quickly changed the subject to the more practical issue of how to initiate trade relation with the kingdom’s farmers.

* * *

Not all villagers were equally as eager to trade with the druids, but for most the sight of gold and the royal crest on the carriages were enough. Arthur for his part kept his distance, sending servants to move the goods while the knights kept a wary eye on the proceedings. The attacks and attempts to break through the barrier had stopped, but the guards remained on their posts. It was easy to fall into a routine of trade, wariness, silence.

Some of the druids, mostly of the younger generation, grew impatient, their displeasure rising in the evenings around the camp fires, until their chieftains cautioned them to silence. Merlin wasn’t sure how long they would be able to keep the peace and was almost relieved when a wild boar that destroyed fields and terrorized the farmers, a blocked valley that was part of the usual trade routes and a fire in a nearby village allowed those restless druids to dispend their energy in a productive way. It helped, settled things, made it seem like what they were doing was something, a step, however small, in the right direction. Merlin added notes to the supplies for Camelot, detailing how the druids helped the rest of the kingdom, how fear slowly turned to gratitude or at least abated to a wait-and-see attitude. They received no reaction from the king, but Merlin knew how it must smart him to find someone else taking over his most sacred duty, a more effective means of blackmail than direct threats or an open attack.

When Arthur finally signalled his intention to enter into negotiations, Merlin wasn’t surprised but still wary, afraid to get up his hopes. He approached the barrier with the other druid chieftains, his hood once again obscuring his identity. Arthur stood at the front of his knights and advisors and Merlin wasn’t happy about seeing Agravaine right next him.

Iseldir undertook the greetings, giving the sign for the druids and Merlin to bow respectfully to the king, once again in full battle gear though with his sword still sheathed. “May I ask why you requested this meeting, Sire?”

“Under the circumstances, I suppose, you have been gracious,” it sounded like Arthur had to make a conscious decision to unclench his teeth. “You have provided us with food and other necessities; you have returned my knights unharmed. However, as regarding to the rest of my kingdom and the good you claim to have done, I have no way to verify your claims. If you want me to consider magic from a different perspective you have to offer me a less limited view on it.”

“That seems reasonable,” Iseldir said. “We are happy to answer any questions you have.”

“I’m afraid I won’t be able to trust anything you tell me without concrete proof,” Arthur said and Ruadan’s hands cracked into fists.

“Because sorcerers lie,” he spat.

“Because I don’t know that you won’t,” Arthur clarified.

“What would you suggest, Sire?” Merlin asked. “Perhaps you can understand that we are equally as reluctant to extend our unconditional trust.”

“I know that you allowed a man to leave the castle to be with his wife and child,” Arthur answered. “I ask that you allow some of my knights to pass the barrier and observe... your way of life and then report back to me. You will have my word of course that they will not harm you.”

“Your word,” Ruadan scoffed, “means nothing.”

“It is enough for me. A knight’s word is his bond,” Merlin intervened, throwing the older druid a glance before turning back to Arthur. “We will allow two of your knights to join us. As long as they remain peaceful, they will have our protection, Sire.”

Arthur shifted uncomfortably. “I have your word on this? A druid who keeps his identity hidden.”

“You have our word on this,” Merlin replied, looking at Iseldir for confirmation.

“Emrys speaks for all of us,” Iseldir agreed. “Your knights will be safe.”

Next to Arthur, Agravaine’s head snapped up, a look close to horror flitting over his face as he focused on Merlin.

“So you are Emrys?” Arthur clarified. “I’ve heard that name before.”

“I am Emrys,” Merlin confirmed, surprised at how right it sounded. “Our word is the only assurance I can give you. You will have to decide if that is enough.”

“I see,” Arthur said. “Four knights.”

“As you rightly pointed out our number is small and there are many children,” Merlin replied. “Two knights.”

“Three,” Arthur retorted. “Sir Gwaine will make his way towards Ealdor to look for Merlin, my missing manservant.”

“Very well, but might I suggest that you send Sir Elyan to look for your manservant, Sire?” Merlin suggested after exchanging a brief look with the other druids. “He will get more out of the journey than Sir Gwaine.”

“How do you know that?” Arthur asked suspiciously.

“Lochru has the gift of Sight,” Merlin stated, knowing that Arthur would take it for the answer it wasn’t. “I will open the barrier tomorrow morning. I assume your men will want to make preparations.”

Arthur gave a curt nod and then signalled for his men to retreat. When the druids were alone once more, they also turned to go, striding with measured steps back to their camp.

“Do you think it is a good idea to allow one of the knights to search for you when he is sure not to find you there?” Iseldir questioned. “The king seems to care greatly about your absence and if his knight does not turn up sign of life, he might grow suspicious against us.”

“Oh, but he will find a sign of life,” Merlin replied, pushing back his hood when they had passed the first tree line. “I asked Ryia to give a letter to my mother so that she wouldn’t worry about me and told her she could show it to Arthur or his knights if they came looking for me.”

“I still think it is dangerous to trust in their good intention, to rely on the king’s word alone,” Ruadan spoke up. “There are children here, Emrys, and not all of us can defend ourselves with magic.”

“When Arthur lost in a sword fight against Morgause, she spared his life in exchange for an unknown favour. He defied his father to keep his word and when she asked him to put his head on a chopping block he barely hesitated,” Merlin replied. “Arthur will keep his word and he will only send his best and most loyal knights.”

Ruadan made a sound of disbelief.

“I’m not saying we shouldn’t be vigilant, but we can do so and still be hospitable,” Merlin added. “Our aim is to gain acceptance, to make them understand, is it not? How can we do that if we keep hiding?”

“How can we do that if we’re all dead?” Ruadan retorted. “Your faith is admirable, Emrys, but caution has served us well in the past.”

“Caution, yes, but hostility?” Merlin asked back. “They are honourable men.”

“We’ll see.”

* * *

Merlin had thought he was well prepared for welcoming three of Arthur’s knights, showing them the good magic could do, being friendly and welcoming while still hiding his face. He had slept well, even after a lengthy discussion with the other druids about how to best go about the coming day, and he felt rested and almost relaxed with the knowledge that they were finally taking a step forward. Then Arthur presented Lord Agravaine as one of the knights he intended to send and Merlin felt like he was going over a cliff.

“No,” he said after an infinitely long moment of indecision. “Lord Agravaine is not welcome here.”

“What?” Arthur stared incredulously at him. “Why?”

“We agreed on three knights, Sire,” Merlin improvised. “Lord Agravaine is no knight of Camelot.”

“What difference does it make?” Arthur demanded. “You agreed to open the barrier for three of my men.”

“I did, and I will if that is your wish, but Lord Agravaine is not welcome in our camp nor will I reopen the barrier for him if he wishes to return to the castle,” Merlin replied, striving for an even tone and shaking his head slightly when Iseldir made to intervene.

“Why?” Arthur asked suspiciously.

“I know I’m not the first to suggest that Lord Agravaine’s loyalty does not lie with you, Sire,” Merlin pointed out. “While I would be glad to get him away from you, I will not facilitate his return.”

“This is outrageous!” Agravaine raised his token protest, but Merlin knew that his pallor was due to fear and not anger. “You know that I’m here to honour a promise I made your mother, Sire, I would never betray you. Are you going to believe the word of a sorcerer?”

“If I may, Sire,” Iseldir spoke up over Agravaine sputtering and Arthur’s heavy silence. “We decided on this course of action not because it was the only one, but because most of us felt that Lady Morgana’s grand promises could not be trusted to improve life for everyone in the kingdom. We consciously chose not to side with her. We sided with you, Sire.”

“Is that a threat?” Arthur demanded, the sun glinting off his chainmail as he shifted in agitation.

“You are at our mercy, we have no need for threats,” Ari said and Merlin clenched his fists angrily.

“It is honesty, Sire,” Merlin intervened. “We have no need for threats and little to gain from telling you this. You won’t believe us, of course, why would you? So if you wish to reconsider our agreement, we can postpone.”

He turned half around, resigned to another long wait while Arthur wrestled with himself and fearing that he had done more harm than good with revealing Agravaine’s true loyalty. He wouldn’t put it past him to cut his losses and take Arthur with him. A shudder worked itself through his body. What had he done?

“Wait,” Arthur stopped him. “Sir Leon will go in my uncle’s stead.”

“But, Sire!” Agravaine protested. “Surely you do not put credence to their lies?”

“They are resolved, for whatever reason, not to extend their hospitality to you. I believe that and will act accordingly,” Arthur retorted, silencing his uncle with a jerk of his hand. “Well?”

Since the last part was directed at Merlin, he inclined his head. “Sir Leon shall be very welcome. Do you wish to make further preparations or should I open the barrier now?”

“I’m ready to go, Sire,” Leon murmured to his king. “There need not be further delays for my sake.”

“ _Agravaine is making ready to run_ ,” Hamo’s voice suddenly sounded in his head. “ _He’ll try to get through when you open the barrier._ ”

Merlin cast a quick glance at Arthur’s uncle, who was mounting his horse while trying not to draw attention to himself. “ _Let him pass._ ”

“ _Emrys, are you sure?_ ” Iseldir questioned. “ _We can stop him easily._ ”

“ _Yes, let him pass,_ ” Merlin reiterated mentally, knowing that he had no time to explain his reasons with Arthur’s gaze fixed unblinkingly on him. “Are we agreed?” he asked aloud.

“We trust you, Emrys,” Iseldir said slowly. “The king’s men will be safe.”

Merlin inclined his head in thanks before turning back to the king. “Please wait for Iseldir’s go ahead. He will be able to tell when the opening is stabilised.”

Arthur jerked his head in agreement as Merlin raised his hands, speaking the incantation loud and clear, more for the knights’ sake than out of necessity, and slowly tore the barrier apart, magic fluctuating around him in that familiar breathtaking, volatile dance. This time he didn’t startle when Agravaine spurred his horse into movement, leaning low over the animal’s neck as he charged through the barely big enough opening. Merlin heard Arthur’s shout of surprise, the purr of swords being drawn, but his vision was once again growing fuzzy around the edges, streaky in the centre.

“Stop him!” someone shouted, but the druids had already made a passage for Agravaine to ride through.

Then Iseldir signalled for Elyan, Leon and Gwaine to move through the barrier and Dreda once again tucked herself under his arm as his knees threatened to give out. “You can close it now,” she whispered and the magic he had used to spread the barrier came rushing back towards him as if it was under Dreda’s command and not his own.

The magic crammed back into his body, squeezing through his lungs, pressing against his heart before it settled in his veins, a steady thrumming pulse of energy that left him feeling light-headed and strangely refreshed.

The three knights had left in hot pursuit of Agravaine, but Merlin doubted that they would be successful. Agravaine’s stallion was one of the fastest horses in Camelot, sleek and powerful, and he would have already reached the forest path by the time the first knight cleared the barrier.

“Why didn’t you stop him?” Arthur exclaimed, pacing like a caged animal on the other side of the barrier.

“What right do we have to stop the king’s uncle?” Merlin asked back.

“You were the ones who insinuated me he was working with Morgana, that he was committing treason! Why would you let him go?” Arthur insisted.

“Treason is punishable by death, is it not? So is sorcery. How would you judge someone who used magic to stop a traitor?” Merlin gave back. “Besides even if we had stopped him, we have no authority to pass judgement over him and right now, Sire, you have no authority in this part of your kingdom, either.”

“So you let him go so that he may continue working with Morgana? That he may tell her how Camelot is under siege and vulnerable?” Arthur seethed.

“I hardly think that kind of information will be news to her,” Merlin replied, suppressing the urge to roll his eyes. “Even if she didn’t feel the initial surge of magic, her spies would have reported seeing a giant barrier appear around Camelot.”

“And you’re not worried about that?” Arthur demanded. “You said you weren’t siding with her!”

“We’re not,” Merlin said and left it at that, swallowing all the things he wanted to say about double standards and Arthur’s sudden willingness to believe in his uncle’s guilt, to use magic when it suited his own needs; the spiteful barb that Arthur only needed to accept magic if he wanted to pre-empt Morgana’s ploy for power.

“Take it or leave, is it?” Arthur huffed in frustration. “I expect my knights to be treated with respect. They will report to me every evening - without any supervision. Elyan will look for my missing manservant.”

Merlin nodded, fearing that any verbal agreement would only be taken as mockery. He was glad when Iseldir spoke up once more, assuring Arthur that his men would be made to feel welcome and that Sir Elyan was welcome to join the patrol of druids who were riding towards Essetir.


	6. No Shortage of Issues

Elyan did leave with Ryia and the rest of the patrol, returning a week later with a new spring in his step and Merlin’s letter in his pocket. He even thanked Lochru for his alleged advice. Gwaine complained loudly about the lack of booze, but complemented Dreda’s cooking just as loudly, entertained the druid children with tales about his adventures and cajoled the druids into showcasing their talents with admirable enthusiasm. Leon, though not hostile or standoffish by any means, treated them with a long-earned wariness, taking a step back when magic was performed and mentally mapping escape routes with every step he took. Merlin couldn’t really blame him.

The presence of the knights forced Merlin into heightened states of vigilance, ready to pull up his hood at any moment so they wouldn’t find our his true identity. He dared not spend more time than absolutely necessary with them for fear they might recognize him by his voice or his mannerisms. Instead he frequently met with Kilgarrah and Aithusa, feeling something in him be calmed by Kilgarrah’s cryptic reassurances and Aithusa’s unbridled joy for life. The druids accepted his prolonged absences with barely a comment, though Hamo sometimes offered to accompany him on his walks and Dreda packed him apples and bread if he should get hungry. It was good.

But at night, he more often than not tossed and turned in his tent, unable to find any sleep with his magic calling and tugging him in the direction of the barrier until he gave in, grabbed a blanket and curled up against the tangible manifestation of his magic. It wasn’t the most comfortable or restful sleeping arrangement, curled up between the roots of a tree, but the closeness of his magic gave him a measure of peace and safety that allowed him to escape from at least some of his nightmares.

* * *

Arthur’s voice pulled him from his sleep, chores waiting no doubt, a hungry king to feed, a speech to write, shoes to polish. Merlin squeezed his eyes shut tightly and pulled his blanket up to his chin, refusing to acknowledge the new day.

“Have you found out anything about their leader?”

“Emrys. He keeps to himself, always wears that hood.” Merlin wasn’t sure what Leon was doing in his bedroom. “They revere him, though. From what I could gather he has only recently joined up with them, but his power must be tremendous and they are willing to follow his lead.”

“I saw him once from behind.” Now Elyan was there as well, and it began to dawn on Merlin that he was not in his room and this was not a usual morning. “Dark hair, kind of gangly, far as I could tell. He has some kind of tattoo on his neck.”

“Does he pose a threat?” Arthur demanded just as Merlin blinked his eyes open and found a dark canopy of leaves above him.

“They have done nothing to suggest that their intentions are anything than what they have made clear,” Leon said. “They insist that they want peace and acceptance and they seem committed to their course of action.”

Merlin pushed the blanket aside, carefully getting to his feet so that he might withdraw unnoticed. Of course, stealth had never been his forte, as Arthur was keen to point out, and he accidentally stepped on the blanket, causing him to stumble gracelessly and noisily into a nearby bush.

“Who’s there? Declare yourself!” Arthur’s command was accompanied by the sound of swords being drawn.

“I apologise, your Majesty.” Merlin slowly stepped around the tree and into their line of sight. “I did not mean to eavesdrop. Please forgive me.”

“What were you doing there? How long have you been listening?” Arthur demanded, his sword at the ready though he was still separated from Merlin and his knights by the barrier.

“I was asleep, Sire. I only woke a few moments ago,” Merlin tried to explain, keeping his hands carefully at his sides so as not to appear like a threat. “I would have chosen another spot if I had known you were going to meet here, Sire, but since you keep shifting the meeting place it’s kind of hard to predict which places to avoid.”

“Why don’t you sleep in your tent?” Gwaine asked.

“Because...” He sighed. “I don’t think you’d understand.”

“Try us,” Arthur demanded in a hard voice.

Merlin took a deep breath, trying to find the words to explain something he hardly understood himself. “Because this - ” He motioned vaguely to the barrier. “ - wasn’t merely created by my magic. It **is** my magic, a part of me. Don’t get me wrong, I couldn’t have done this without the druids’ help and if you’re interested in the details your best bet would be to ask Iseldir, but it’s not their power behind this.”

He carefully stepped around Gwaine and reached out to the barrier, his hand resting comfortably against the glowing shield and tendrils of magic wrapping around his fingers, snaking up his wrist and up to his elbow. He sighed in relief. “This is me. My centre. It doesn’t feel right to be separated.”

And it didn’t feel right to let them see this moment, as if he was revealing something private and somehow intimate. He dropped his hand, hiding it in the long sleeve of his cloak.

“So if we killed you, the barrier would be gone,” Arthur concluded and Merlin saw the knights’ bodies tense in preparation.

“That was not really my point, but go ahead, it might work and what’s one more dead sorcerer on your conscience?” He spread his arms wide.

“You wouldn’t try to defend yourself?” Arthur asked suspiciously.

“If you’d rather risk being imprisoned forever than consider a treaty with us, I think we’re all wasting our time,” Merlin returned, striving for an even tone. “It’s your decision.”

“There’s something strange about you, something familiar, too,” Arthur mused, but had his knights stand down with a brief glance. “I’m not sure what to make of you.”

“I’ll be glad to let you figure it out, Sire, if you give us a chance,” Merlin said with a slight bow.

“We’ll see,” Arthur conceded. “For now you can answer some questions, since you’re already here. Are you their leader?”

“No.” Merlin shook his head for emphasis. “Iseldir, Hamo, Ari, Ruadan and Dreda are the chieftains of their respective groups. Lochru’s gift of Sight gives his council and opinion further weight. But we are bound by an understanding, not a fixed hierarchy or obedience owed.”

“But they listen to you,” Leon pointed out. “And I heard something about a prophecy?”

“There are many prophecies afloat, but they hold little certainty and much room for interpretation,” Merlin answered, thinking how his wish to prevent Morgana’s murder attempt on the late king had only given her more fuel for her hatred. “That being said, I’d like to think that they take my opinion into account out of respect and not because of some ill-advised belief in a prophecy that may or may not be about me.”

“So what will you do if I refuse to lift the ban on magic?” Arthur demanded.

“I doubt our alliance would hold, should that be your decision,” Merlin said, feeling coldness seep up his spine. “The druids are a peaceful people, but many think that there has been too much slaughter already.”

“What will **you** do?” the king repeated.

“This is my last resort, Sire, if it fails... maybe it will be time to try to change my destiny, after all,” Merlin said, wondering if he could ever actually turn against Arthur, no matter how pig-headed he was acting. “But for now we still have hope.”

“Is that what is stopping you? I’m beginning to see that you could easily raze Camelot to the ground. And yet you don’t,” Arthur questioned.

“As you rightly pointed out our number is small and few of us have destruction in their blood,” Merlin said evasively, doubting that a reiteration of how they meant no harm would serve to disperse Arthur’s doubts.

“I doubt you’d need an army if you have that big dragon at your side,” Gwaine threw in and Merlin’s heart was forcefully jerked downward.

“So you followed me and saw Kilgharrah,” he said, thinking back to how many times he had gone to meet with the dragon and hoping desperately that Gwaine had missed the small white creature that was often hidden beneath Kilgharrah’s gigantic wing.

“Well, we’re here to observe, aren’t we, mate?” Gwaine said with one of his infectious grins. “And I saw the small one, too, but it doesn’t seem like much of a threat.”

It was partly the dismissive tone, partly the implied danger that made Merlin take a step forward, his vision clouded in a haze of anger, and raise his hands as if to push Gwaine back. “Don’t even think - ”

The presence of swords registered at the same time as the blue, licking flames around his raised hands and he stumbled back, shaking them as if to dislodge the magic. He stared down in horror at his trembling hands, magic flickering now like a candle in the wind, remembering the feeling of a sweaty body pressed against his, damp breath on his neck, knife in his throat. The iron-clad taste of relief. He couldn’t contain the shaking. His eyes burned. His throat constricted around every inhalation.

“Can’t say I saw that one coming,” Gwaine’s voices drifted over him. “Hey mate, you okay?”

“Gwaine, don’t!” Arthur, and of course Gwaine wouldn’t listen to him. Merlin felt a hand on his shoulder.

“Don’t touch me!” it came out like a screech and his hands flared bluish white again. “Don’t. Don’t. I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Sounds like a good start to me, mate,” Gwaine said soothingly, unperturbed and Merlin wondered if he had found himself some ale. “Why don’t you sit down? Take a few deep breaths, relax.”

Breathing sounded heavenly, but he wasn’t sure he could, and relaxing was a very bad idea, what with his magic raging through his body like a wild horse. “Sorry, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to.”

“No harm done, mate,” Gwaine murmured, and his gentle smile drifted into Merlin’s vision _(a leering smirk)_. “Those dragons must mean a lot to you.”

“They’re not monsters, and Aithusa is just a baby. She never hurt anyone,” Merlin whispered, flexing his fingers and then curling them into tight fists lest more of his magic break free.

“Maybe you haven’t heard but not too long ago the Great Dragon nearly destroyed all of Camelot. I’d call that monstrous,” Arthur argued.

“Maybe you haven’t heard but he was betrayed and his kind was slaughtered and then your father kept him shackled deep beneath the castle with only his thoughts of revenge as company. I’d call that motive, Sire,” Merlin retorted sharply, feeling lightening caressing the palms of his hand _(a violation of the law)_.

“Whatever the case, we dealt with it and we’ll deal with those one and a half dragons of yours as well, if it comes to it,” Arthur returned confidently and Merlin couldn’t help the derisive snort that escaped him. “What?”

“Nothing, Sire. I just wonder if you don’t find it curious that you killed the Great Dragon but never saw his body. I suppose he just vanished into thin air, did he, like dragons are wont to do.” Merlin rolled his eyes and his magic actually settled at being back in familiar territory. It was amazing how gullible Arthur could be.

“I dealt it a mortal blow,” Arthur replied, but he sounded unsure. “It used the last of its strength to flee.”

“If that is what you chose to believe, Sire,” Merlin inclined his head. “Then surely you have nothing to worry about.”

“What are you saying?” Arthur demanded. “Do you know something?”

“I’m saying that if you hurt one of them, I won’t be able to stop them from taking their revenge,” Merlin said.

“You speak as if you have control over them now,” Arthur pointed out suspiciously. “But only a Dragonlord can command a dragon.”

“Yes,” Merlin gave back, unimpressed by Arthur’s glare.

“Well, are you?”

“We are kin,” Merlin said and he could almost hear Kilgharrah’s laughter in his soul, their bond amplified at the acknowledgement. “Kilgharrah won’t attack Camelot and Aithusa is a lot more interested in learning how to catch fish without getting her wings wet. You’re quite safe. And now I’ll think I’ll get some more sleep.”

“You can’t dismiss me. I’m the king, you don’t get to tell me when our conversation is over,” Arthur protested indignantly.

“I’ll strive to remember that for when I’m once more under your jurisdiction, Sire,” Merlin answered, the last coil of his magic releasing into a gentle wave at the familiar banter. “Until then, I bid you goodnight. Thank you for your kindness, Sir Knight.” He added to Gwaine before turning away. He felt the need to see Aithusa and Kilgharrah.

* * *

Ryia galloped into their clearing half an hour after his first warning had trickled into their minds, putting the entire camp on high alert.

“Odin’s army will reach the northern border by nightfall tomorrow,” he exclaimed breathlessly, swinging from his horse. “Morgana’s riding with him.”

“We shouldn’t have let Agravaine make his escape,” Ruadan commented in Merlin’s general direction.

“If we dwell on the past, we won’t have time to prepare for the future,” Iseldir admonished. “How many are there?”

“Too many to count.” Ryia shook his head. “They are ready for war, though.”

“Of course they are ready for war! Odin has been pushing at our borders ever since Uther’s health started to decline. We were patrolling the border when you abducted us and dragged us back to Camelot,” Elyan burst out, cutting off Iseldir, who had made to ask another question.

“No need to raise your voice, young man,” Dreda admonished him. “We are well familiar with the situation.”

“Then what do you plan to do about it?” Elyan demanded in agitation. “Arthur can’t raise an army in the position you’ve put him in. Odin will overrun the land with no opposition!”

“Maybe we should discuss this with the king,” Merlin suggested mildly, trying to stave off an escalation. “Could you ask him if and when he’d like to talk about the situation?”

“Leon already went to get the king,” Elyan answered. “He’ll meet us at the barrier.”

“Best not keep him waiting, in that case,” Merlin said, turning towards the barrier.

“Emrys.” Iseldir stopped him. “There’s much to consider before we can make a decision, different concerns and opinions to take into account.”

“I know. But should the king’s opinion not be one of them?” Merlin replied, pleaded. “We have to know what he thinks before we can decide anything.”

“We already know what you will decide. It’s not like it would be the first time you betrayed your own kind for the king’s sake,” Ruadan accused.

“I never made a secret of where my allegiance lies, Ruadan, and you’ve certainly made no secret of your dislike for the king. I don’t think we need to get into an argument about it now. Please.”

“Your allegiance also belongs to us,” Ruadan reminded him and Merlin’s hand instinctively went up to trace the black design on his throat and neck. “Don’t forget that and I won’t forget that we have a common goal.”

“So you’re willing to listen?” Merlin asked hopefully. “All of you?”

“Yes,” Ruadan said and the others nodded.

“Thank you,” Merlin said, returning Ruadan’s reticent smile.

Arthur was already impatiently waiting, pacing on the other side of the barrier. “You saw an army approaching the borders of my kingdom, is that correct?”

“I did,” Ryia answered. “They ride under Odin’s banner and will reach the border tomorrow evening.”

“All right,” Arthur murmured. “That might give us just enough time. My knights are ready to ride as soon as you take down the barrier and - ”

“Excuse me, your Majesty,” Iseldir interrupted. “I believe our terms were quite clear. We will not take down the barrier.”

“Odin’s army is riding for Camelot,” Arthur protested. “Surely you understand what that means!”

“We understand perfectly, Sire,” Iseldir replied unimpressed. “But this barrier was erected by all of us and only together we will be able to take it down. So even if some of us were in favour of letting you go, others are just as resolved to keep to our agreement.”

“You also agreed to do no harm, didn’t you? What do you think will happen to the villages that lie between Odin and the throne? This is not about me or you; this is about how much suffering you can prevent by doing the right thing!”

“It is not our fault that you grew comfortable with accepting our help when it suited you but dismissing our kindness out of hand,” Ari pointed out. “We have offered you food, protected your lands, welcomed your knights. And yet you still look at us as if we are monsters, as if we tried to trick you with false promises and conspired behind your back. If we are your enemy, it is because that is the only role you can see us in.”

“Is that your last word? Will you let Camelot fall, let its people suffer because I did not immediately overturn a law that has existed for decades?” Arthur asked.

“No, we agreed that we would not force the king’s decision,” Merlin spoke up, addressing the druids more than Arthur. “That we wanted him to come to accept magic on his own terms, in his own time. We said we wanted to avoid further bloodshed. That was our objective and it still is. Right?”

“I’m sorry, Emrys. I agreed to listen, but nothing the king has said has made me change my mind,” Ruadan said. “I will not help take down the barrier.”

“Neither will I,” Ari agreed.

“ _We have a responsibility towards this kingdom, even if not its king. We made it vulnerable to this attack. You cannot just stand aside and let the people suffer for a decision that is out of their hands!_ ” Merlin pleaded silently with the druids.

“If you won’t take down the barrier, let my knights through so that they may protect the kingdom,” Arthur bargained. “Help them protect Camelot as you’ve done so far.”

“I’ve been talked out of going to war against you, Pendragon; I’m certainly not going to fight for you!” Ruadan exclaimed angrily.

“We are no warriors and our magic is not a weapon for you to use. If that is what your acceptance hinges on, you won’t find us willing to pay the price,” Iseldir said.

Merlin felt his magic swirl up in him, golden eddies under his skin, light reflexes chasing over the surface of the barrier.

“Emrys, calm yourself,” Hamo cautioned, hovering just to Merlin’s right without touching him.

“However, some of us clearly feel strongly about helping you and as such we are willing to consider the possibility to do so,” Iseldir continued, talking over Ruadan’s and Ari’s mental protests.

“What are your conditions?” Arthur asked.

“Understand that these are exceptional circumstances and that us entering a war on your behalf is contingent on that exception. You will never ask us to fight for you again,” Iseldir laid out and some of the druids inclined their heads in agreement.

“I can agree to that,” Arthur answered. “And in fact, I would not ask you to fight for me now. Help me defend my kingdom, show Odin that Camelot is not weak or unprotected so that he might reconsider his plan to start a war.”

Merlin didn’t miss the look Arthur sent in his direction. “You’re thinking of Kilgharrah.”

“Facing a dragon would be quite a deterrent to anyone,” Arthur pointed out. “And you’re a Dragonlord; you can command it.”

“I will ask Kilgharrah if he is willing to help, but I’m not going to command him if he refuses,” Merlin gave back.

“Then ask him. Are you going to let my knights through?” Arthur demanded.

Merlin looked at Iseldir, giving him a small nod, and then turned back to Arthur. “No. They would only force us to watch for an attack from behind. The three knights that are already on this side of the barrier are free to join us, but they will follow our lead and we cannot guarantee that they won’t be hurt.”

“You have my word that there will not be any treachery. My knights will not attack any of you,” Arthur protested.

“Forgive me, Sire, but we have your word on a lot of issues and our trust is not unlimited,” Merlin said. “Now we can discuss this further, if you wish, or I can see if I can enlist the help of who is probably the best chance you have at avoiding a war.”

Arthur hesitated a moment before he made a dismissive motion with his hand. “Go. I can provide you with horses and my men need weapons so I trust you will open the barrier before you take off.”

“We are well aware of the weapons you smuggled out to your men in seemingly empty carts and baskets,” Ruadan pointed out scornfully, but Merlin was only half-listening.

_“Can you handle it from here?_ ” he asked mostly of Iseldir, who gave him a small nod and even smaller smile. Merlin took it as his cue to leave.


	7. Here Be Dragons

Kilgharrah’s claws buried deep into the moist soil as he landed in front of Merlin, Aithusa executing a far less smooth touch-down moments after, her snout connecting hard with the ground. She snorted mud from her nostrils and cried mournfully before she spotted Merlin and immediately vaulted towards him with a happy crow.

“Hey there,” Merlin greeted, his heart feeling lighter already. “Look at how much you’ve grown.”

She would no longer fit in Merlin’s bag, her wingspan easily as long as a horse and the ridge of her back just under Merlin’s hip. She enthusiastically butted her head against his thigh, cooing and squeaking in her own language.

“Have you thought of how to keep her safe while we are away?” Kilgharrah asked and Merlin wasn’t surprised that the dragon already knew why he had been called.

“Dreda can look after her,” Merlin suggested. “She’s kind and I trust her. I think that would be a better solution than leaving her somewhere on her own.”

“That remains to be seen, young warlock,” Kilgharrah replied. “I wish to meet her before I make a decision.”

“Sure, as long as you plan to do so without scaring her out of her mind,” Merlin warned. “Are you otherwise onboard with the plan?”

“Not so long ago I took pride in protecting this kingdom. I’m curious to see if I still remember how to do it,” Kilgharrah answered and his eyes glimmered with zest.

“I thought there’d be more of a discussion,” Merlin said, half-afraid that looking this particular gift horse in the mouth would bring about the argument that had miraculously not occurred so far, but needing to make sure that Kilgharrah was serious about wanting to help.

“As you have found with Arthur, likewise I have come to realise that sometimes all I can do is aid you in your foolishness,” Kilgharrah answered.

“What does that mean?” Merlin demanded, crossing his arms in front of his chest as a shiver raced down his back.

“Your power is not without limits nor can you bend the laws of magic without consequence. But Odin’s army is approaching fast and you still have much to do, young warlock,” Kilgharrah said, leaving Merlin to wonder if that had actually been an answer.

But then Kilgharrah slowly sank down in a clear invitation and Merlin couldn’t help the grin that spread over his face. He quickly approached the huge dragon, clambering up on his back. “Let’s go.”

Merlin probably hadn’t been very successful in hiding his excitement because Kilgharrah huffed out a long-suffering breath. The Great Dragon grabbed Aithusa, who reacted with an indignant squawk, and then coiled his body before pushing off of the ground, his wings snapping out to both sides of Merlin and muscles and scales shifting under him. Merlin laughed with joy as the wind whipped around them, the ground becoming smaller and smaller, passing quicker and quicker beneath them.

Much too soon they were circling over the druid camp, Kilgharrah taking a few slow spirals until he deemed the best place to land the short stretch of ground between the edge of the camp and the soaring barrier. Merlin wondered if his choice was partly due to the admiring, awe-filled gazes from both druids and Arthur’s men he was thus assured. Kilgharrah seemed to pay them no mind as he manoeuvred his large body into the small space available, neatly folding his wings on top of his back and releasing Aithusa from his grasp before he allowed Merlin to descend via his outstretched foreleg.

“You have returned quickly, Emrys,” Iseldir greeted him, approaching with caution. “We are honoured by your presence, Great Dragon.”

Kilgharrah inclined his head, regarding the druids with a calm, piercing gaze as if he did not really care for their presence but felt compelled to make sense of them nonetheless, now that he was already here. Aithusa, of course, had a far less reserved approach, crowing excitedly at all the new sights and smells, hopping this way and that, with her neck outstretched and her nostrils fluttering.

“So the dragon agreed to help?” Arthur demanded, his voice clear and impatient, but Merlin saw the wariness in his face, the doubt.

“Indeed, young Pendragon,” Kilgharrah answered, turning around and forcing the druids to take several hasty steps back lest they be swept away by his tail. “And yet you do not seem pleased.”

“I recognise you now. You were the dragon that attacked Camelot, spewed fire on the city, crumbled walls beneath your claws, killed my men. Why would you help us now?” Arthur demanded.

“And what did bestir a king who had rejoiced in magic before to vow an end to all magic, to every last sorcerer and dragon? An answer for an answer, young Pendragon,” Kilgharrah returned.

“Don’t. This is not the time,” Merlin ordered Kilgharrah before turning to Arthur. “Kilgharrah agreed to help, but his reasons are his own. Feel free to pursue other avenues if that is not to your liking.”

“The horses are ready,” Arthur said after a long silence. “The fate of the kingdom is in your hands... Emrys.”

An unexpected jolt went through Merlin’s body at hearing Arthur say his druid name for the first time. As if Arthur had acknowledged that part of him, had seen him for what he truly was and deemed him worthy of recognition.

“We accepted the king’s offer to furnish us with horses and his men with better weapons,” Iseldir explained. “But if you’d rather preserve your strength...”

“I’ll have time enough to recover,” Merlin said. “How many horses do we need?”

“Ruadan, Dreda and I will remain behind with the women and children and those who do not wish to fight,” Iseldir informed him. “Altogether you will have thirty men at your side.”

“Thank you,” Merlin said before turning towards the barrier and starting the slow process of creating an opening, pushing and prodding at the strands of magic until he found one that was willing to give, loosening the adjacent ones like unravelling stitches.

When the opening was big enough for the horses to be led through, single-file, he fortified the edges with an additional layer of magic and then gave Hamo a mental go-ahead, his concentration never wavering. That is, until Aithusa, with an excited shriek, barrelled forward, straight through the opening, horses scattering and knights hastily drawing weapons and readying for an attack.

“Aithusa!” Merlin thundered in the deep, guttural tone of their common language.

The small white dragon made a chagrined noise, slinking back to him like a guilty child, and curled up against his leg, her scaled head pressing beseechingly against his side.

“Stay,” Merlin commanded to be on the safe side before he put all his efforts into stabilising the opening once more, Aithusa a warm weight against him.

When the last horse had safely passed through, he released the hold on his magic and the barrier smoothly sewed itself shut. Aithusa keened piteously, nudging his hand with her head. Merlin dropped to his knees, framing her scaly cheeks with his hands and meeting her deep golden eyes with his own.

“You can’t just run off,” Merlin admonished her, smoothing his thumbs over the feathery scales near her eyes. “You scared the poor king and his knights and they might have hurt you.” Aithusa keened again, almost toppling him over in her endeavour to bury against his chest. “Shh, it’s okay now. You’re safe.”

“It can be frightening for a young dragon to hear the voice of a Dragonlord for the first time,” Kilgharrah explained, running his snout along Aithusa’s back.

“Do you think we’re making a mistake, leaving her behind?” Merlin asked.

“If we knew in advance what would turn out to be a mistake, we would have no chance to learn from our experiences, young warlock,” Kilgharrah admonished him.

“That doesn’t make me feel better,” Merlin pointed out, but didn’t expect to receive a better answer.

He carefully disentangled himself from the two dragons, becoming aware of all the curious gazed fixed upon them. “Load the horses, pack only what is necessary. We ride before noon.”

Hamo nodded, motioning for the horses to be lead towards their camp and leaving only those who would remain behind with Merlin. “I realise it is much to ask - ” Merlin turned to Dreda. “ - but a battlefield is no place for her and I cannot leave her alone. Would you be willing to look after Aithusa?”

The motherly druid smiled, slowly approaching the small dragon with her hand outstretched. Aithusa cocked her head pensively, curling tighter into herself but then her innate curiosity compelled her to push her snout forward, pressing it carefully into Dreda’s palm. When the druid woman laughed delightedly and caressed the shimmering white scales, Aithusa made a sound like a purr, gradually relaxing into the careful touch.

“She is beautiful,” Dreda said. “I’d be happy to look after her while you’re gone, Emrys.”

Merlin looked at Kilgharrah for his consent and the Great Dragon inclined his head.

“Thank you,” Merlin said to Dreda, tugging gently on one of Aithusa’s wings to garner her attention. “And you will behave yourself and not cause any trouble, young lady, won’t you?”

Aithusa screeched enthusiastically, her earlier fright all but forgotten at receiving attention from both Dreda and Merlin. He gently captured her head again, smoothing his hands down her sides as he bid her stay in the Dragon tongue. A shudder went through her lithe body, but she seemed less shaken then before and left willingly with Dreda when she beckoned her.

“Make sure she is settled in,” Merlin told Kilgharrah. “But be certain you’re with us when we reach the border.”

“I will not be far behind, young warlock,” Kilgharrah promised.

Merlin looked back at the king once more, conscious of his avid gaze that had watched the entire byplay with barely a blink. He gave a sharp nod and then turned away. To saddle his horse and ride to war.

* * *

A sea of banners swam into view behind the ridge that separated Camelot from Odin’s kingdom, the snarling head of a wolf on wine-red ground waving above the heads of Odin’s army. Truly, Merlin had not expected to feel their small number so acutely, the queasy feeling that had plagued him since they had left the camp doubling into a slowly uncoiling fear. So many.

“They have not spotted us yet, my Lord, but we had best take cover if we want to keep it that way,” Leon spoke up, reining in his horse to Merlin’s left.

“I’m no lord, Sir Knight,” Merlin replied in surprise.

“You are a Dragonlord,” Gwaine pointed out, suddenly at his other side. “And Leon here so likes his proper etiquette.”

“Right,” Merlin mumbled, eying them suspiciously from under his hood. “Is this the part where you kill me?”

“What? No,” Gwaine protested, exchanging quick glances with Leon and Elyan, who had ridden up on Leon’s other side.

“Right,” Merlin said again with not an ounce of conviction. “It does seem a rather stupid plan, if you ask my opinion.”

“That would be a fundamentally stupid idea seeing as you’re the only thing standing between us and a hostile army,” Elyan agreed.

“So are you just biding your time until that’s been dealt with?” Merlin asked, wondering when he had become so suspicious of the men he had once called honourable, friends _(steel against his throat)_.

“What makes you think that we wish you harm?” Leon asked.

“You’re sticking to me like honey to an open wound,” Merlin pointed out, nodding to where the rest of the druids had dismounted their horses. “Even when you should be making your own preparations.”

“We asked Iseldir about the spell you used, about what would happen if you were killed,” Leon said softly. “He seemed rather certain that it would not be to our benefit. So the king ordered us to ensure your safe return. That’s why we’re here, at your side.”

Merlin tasted the bitterness of these words on his tongue. While they may be at his side, they would never be on his side. They weren’t his friends in this, not his allies, but strangers dispatched to guard him as some valuable but dangerous thing. Not a human being. Just a sorcerer.

He shifted his weight, tugged gently on the reins until his dapple-gray mare stepped backward, manoeuvring out from between the other horses.

“If I needed your protection, we would indeed be in trouble, don’t you think?” he asked over his shoulder before sliding from his horse next to Hamo and the others.

“We may have heard the Great Dragon flying over us, but it is too dark to be sure,” Hamo informed him.

Merlin closed his eyes for a moment, feeling for the intricate connection he had to the dragon, like a rope wrapped around his heart, sometimes taut as if either of them were dangling from a cliff, sometimes relaxed and barely noticeable. He had to jerk back when almost, almost, he followed down the wrong connection, the unnatural, strained tie that led far away to where the hole in his middle ended. He felt his eyes burning, a searing pain shooting straight through his brain, before Kilgharrah’s resonating voice pulled him back.

“He’s here,” Merlin confirmed. “Are you ready?”

“Should we spread out, surround them?” Ryia asked, his naturally deep voice doing little to mute the excitement and eagerness in his tone.

“No, we stay together,” Merlin ordered. “There’s little use in trying to fool them into thinking we are more than just a handful of people and we want them to retreat, not cut off their way back. We’ll need light, though.”

“They’ll see us,” Leon pointed out. “They’ll have archers positioned to take down anyone who approaches.”

“We’ll be prepared for that,” Merlin said, taking note of the confirming nods he received. “We can create a shield strong enough to fend off weaker spells and certainly arrows. Stay behind us.” He told the knights while the druids began to gather magic around them, filling the air with swirls of gold, a quiet hum that the knights remained ignorant of.

When the shield was ready, Merlin stepped between Hamo and Ari and together they sent up golden and red sparks, a shower of light that cascaded into the royal crest of the Pendragons. From the ridge they could watch the camp below them hustle into action, fires burning brighter, tents flapping, shouts sounding and swords clanging. And the first signs of magic, globes of light, a charge in the air, a tingling in Merlin’s fingertips.

* * *

It took a while, after the predicted arrows rained down on them, sliding harmlessly along the shield and pooling before their feet, before Odin and his commanders approached on horseback, followed by a small troop of his knights. And Morgana, as beautiful and otherwordly as Merlin remembered, but with an edge, a haunted quality, coldness, emptiness. Her hair had lost its lustre, wild and unkept as if she had stood outside for a long time in defiance of the forces of nature, and her black dress made her seem even paler.

Merlin had been so lost in thought he hadn’t noticed how close their opponents had come, close enough that they wouldn’t have to shout to communicate, close enough that he could see the manic gleam in Morgana’s eyes. And Agravaine, just behind her with the same superior smirk on his oily face that he had had in Camelot when the king’s grace had made him untouchable. He shuddered.

“We are not here to fight,” Merlin spoke up before Odin or Morgana could take the word. “But we are here to defend this kingdom.”

“How inspiring,” Morgana taunted while Odin burst into uproarious laughter. “How do you intend to do that? More importantly why would you do that? We’re fighting for the freedom of magic, against the persecution we all face, against the hatred Arthur inherited from his father.”

“So are we, my Lady, but ours is a different path,” Hamo returned, unimpressed.

“Arthur will never accept us; he will always regard us with distrust and suspicion. As long as he sits on the throne, we will always have to fear for our lives. Join me and we can free magic off its chains; we can free this kingdom of its tyrant.”

“You’re not here to free anything, though,” Merlin pointed. “You’re here for revenge. For your son’s death.” He met Odin’s furious gaze. “For the pain and fear you went through.” He looked back at Morgana. “But you’ve sat Camelot’s throne before and you brought death and suffering to the people. Your rule would be no more just than Uther’s.”

“I am nothing like Uther,” Morgana snapped, her compassionate mask crumbling. “Why should we cover in fear when they are the ones who should fear us? Why should they go unpunished when they have done nothing to help us? Change requires sacrifice and I will no longer be the one to pay the price. And if I have to squash some traitors to open the way, so be it.”

Merlin wasn’t surprised by Morgana’s attack, but he saw the knights flinch out of the corner of his eye as her magic connected with the shield with a fiery glow, dripping off it like molten metal.

“We want to avoid bloodshed,” Merlin said to Odin. “But it would be a mistake to underestimate us.”

“I Saw our victory,” Morgana boasted and a shiver raced down Merlin’s spine before he noticed the fingers Morgana had clenched around the reins of her horse, belying her confidence.

“I cannot predict the future, your Majesty,” Merlin answered. “But I can assure you this won’t be as easy a victory as you imagined. Why would King Arthur care if you kill a bunch of sorcerers? You might be doing him a favour. But you will be leading many of your men to their death and it won’t bring your son back to life.”

Odin had a regal presence to him that Arthur had not quite mastered and Merlin knew that he must have more than double Arthur’s experience on the battlefield. But there was also a hard line around his mouth, a permanent crease between his eyebrows and a forced square to his shoulders that spoke of a man haunted by the past and despairing of the future. It was hard to reason with a man like that.

“If you are prepared to die for a king who abhors your very existence, surely you understand that my men are prepared to die for a prince they loved,” Odin said. “If you wish to measure your magic against the Lady Morgana’s, that is your choice. We have wasted enough time.”

He tugged on the reins of his black stallion and Merlin felt Morgana’s triumphant smirk like a punch to the solar plexus. “A bunch of druids and three knights against a High Priestess of the Old Religion, whatever other sorcerers have decided to join you and your army – I can understand why you’d like those odds,” Merlin stopped him nonetheless and earned himself an impatient snort. “But there’s one more thing you should know.”

He raised his face to the darkening sky, feeling the Dragonlord’s power rush through him, curling around his vocal cords and making his voice deeper, harder, rougher, “Dragon, left flank. Throw them down. Set fire to the tents. Don’t kill anyone.”

A moment of silence, ruptured by a roar. The horses whinnied; one of them shied and nearly threw its rider. And Kilgharrah burst from the sky like a bolt of lightning, a nightmare come to life. He swooped down low over the left side of the army below, scattering people and animals, combing his claws through their rows and taking anyone down who was not quick enough to get out of the way.

“A dragon?” Morgana had a firm hand on her horse, but she couldn’t hide the look of consternation on her face as her allies dispersed like flies.

“Your men are in open field,” Merlin said to Odin, ignoring Morgana for now. “Nowhere to take cover. No weapons to level against a dragon. Turn back now and we will let you go in peace.”

Kilgharrah had turned his attention to the tents, his fiery breath eating through the canvas and leaving nothing but fire and smoke and destruction. Merlin heard the joy and mirth in his roar, but he doubted it sounded anything but fearsome to the others.

But Morgana’s eyes glowed golden. Below them a discarded lance lifted off the ground and with a jerk of her chin it was launched at Kilgharrah. It would probably have bounced off harmlessly on the dragon’s scaly hauberk, but Merlin felt the clench of fear around his throat and threw his own magic against Morgana’s, sending the lance off course. He felt a searing pain in his stomach, as if it had hit him instead, Morgana’s magic more powerful and crueller than he had expected.

“Turn back,” Merlin repeated, breathing through the pain. “This is not a battle you can win.”

“Call that back. Call your dragon back,” Odin demanded through clenched teeth. “You’ve made your point.”

Merlin felt along their bond, gave a gentle tug and Kilgharrah roared one last time and shot back off into the sky. “Will you withdraw your army?”

“You have my word,” Odin agreed sourly. “It seems Pendragon has been more fortunate in the choice of his allies.” He threw Morgana an indefinable look that she returned with one of loathing.

“My Lady, please let this also be your cue,” Merlin said, feeling the dread pooling in his gut because stubbornness was a Pendragon family trait. “Even your magic is powerless against a dragon.”

“You know nothing about magic,” Morgana snapped, impatiently jerking her arm out of Agravaine’s reaching grasp and speaking over his soft protest. “Your little trick might have impressed Odin, but I don’t have to fight the dragon to open the way – just its slave driver.”

Merlin could feel the others tensing up, Gwaine and Leon and Elyan gripping their swords tightly as if they truly expected to fight off a magical attack with cold steel. It would be almost laughable if it weren’t for the fact that they probably reached that erroneous conclusion because he had always surreptitiously helped them in the past.

“You can try,” Merlin gave back, letting his voice go hard and inflectionless. “If you dare.”

“Just who do you think you are?” Morgana scoffed. “A Dragonlord, sure, but you’re no sorcerer. You’re no match for me.”

“I’m Emrys,” Merlin answered, feeling sick at the vicious glee that snaked up in him at Morgana’s flinch.

“You’re lying,” Morgana said after a short moment, but her voice shook. “Emrys is an old man.”

“Surely you do not doubt the possibilities of magic,” Merlin retorted. “Do you think you’ll fare better this time? Do you think I should show mercy again? Go, now!”

What seemed like long time ago, Merlin had thought that he and Morgana were the same. Magic, as simple as that. But her magic felt icy cold as it crashed against his, violent and vicious, the way his didn’t feel, not even on the worst of days. He wondered if that rage had always been in her, if the sweet, caring girl he had once known had been merely a thin veneer over this darkness. Or if he had done this to her. It pressed against him, against his own magic, crumbling around him like a collapsing building, crushing him like water rushing over a cliff, tearing him apart like the jaws of a wild animal. Suffocating him. Darkness.

 


	8. Mayhap to Hope

There was no ground underneath him, nothing but darkness and air. He could breathe again.

* * *

When he regained consciousness for the second time, he was lying in a nest of blankets, Aithusa's breath tickling against his neck, the barrier cradling his back. He curled his hand around her folded up wing, giving it a gentle push to get her to give him a bit more space.

Aithusa shot up with an excited screech that reverberated nauseatingly in Merlin's skull. "Yes, I'm awake. Thank you for letting everyone know," Merlin mumbled, carefully sitting up and leaning back against the barrier.

Aithusa, not surprisingly, was immune to his sarcasm, flapping her wings and making even more of a ruckus before she hopped back over to him, slamming him back against the barrier in her need to snuffle against his stomach.

The lazy swish of huge wings announced the arrival of Kilgharrah and Hamo, who had been walking quickly towards Merlin, was halted in his tracks as the Great Dragon folded himself into the tight landing space.

"She was worried, young warlock," Kilgharrah greeted him reproachfully, curling his tail around his taloned feet.

"What happened?" Merlin asked, rubbing his fingers over Aithusa's head.

"I warned you of the risks in creating this barrier," Kilgharrah told him. "I warned you of unhinging the precarious balance of the world. You cannot be at two places at once, young warlock, and neither can your magic."

Merlin remembered it then, the tearing, rending pain that raged like a wildfire through his body, robbed him of his senses until he fell into darkness. It hadn't been Morgana's magic but his own.

"You brought me back," he said, but it wasn't a question. "Thank you."

Kilgharrah inclined his head and Aithusa cawed against his stomach, sending warmth through his body.

"Has she been okay by herself?"

"Your trust turned out to be well-placed," Kilgharrah confirmed. "In more than one regard."

"What do you mean?"

"It's been a long time since I had occasion to stretch my wings," Kilgharrah rumbled, uncurling his powerful body, unfolding his majestic wings and pushing off the ground.

"Wait! What about Aithusa?" Merlin shouted, staggering to his feet. "Aren't you taking her with you?"

"You're a Dragonlord - there are duties as well as vantages," Kilgharrah called back with amusement, barely changing the rhythm of his flight, and was soon gone from sight.

Aithusa stopped her aggressive snuggling with Merlin's leg long enough to give a wailing cry of goodbye, spreading her wings and flapping them twice before she dropped back onto all fours and buried against Merlin's side.

"Great," Merlin muttered, resting his hand on Aithusa's head. "Guess it's just you and me now."

Aithusa started to grumble, a dragon's purr.

"Emrys!" Hamo finally dared to approach though he retained a respectful from Aithusa swishing tail. "I'm glad you're awake. We were worried."

"I'm sorry. It seems I underestimated the pull of my magic," Merlin apologised. "I don't really remember what happened. Did... did everything go well?"

"Morgana's magic was no match for yours," Hamo said with satisfaction. "The traitor, Agravaine, carried her away. We did not stop him."

"Good," Merlin answered. "What about Odin?"

"After the dragon flew you back, we remained behind to make sure he withdrew his army. They broke off camp at first light and did not turn back," Hamo told him.

"Okay," Merlin said. "But we should keep an eye on the border, just in case."

"Ryia and his group stayed to make sure there will be no unwelcome surprises," the other druid said, leading Merlin back to the druid camp. "You should eat something. The king demanded that we inform him as soon as you regained consciousness."

"Why?" Merlin asked, smiling at the druids they passed, but pulling his hood down over his face in case the three knights were nearby.

"He did not say. In fact, he said hardly anything when we came back," Hamo answered, looking slightly troubled. "Only that he was grateful for our help."

"That's more than I expected," Merlin remarked, gratefully sinking down on a log and accepting the bowl of stew Dreda pressed into his hand. "Is there some food for Aithusa as well?"

"She seems to like fish," Dreda answered, moving a pail over to Aithusa, who crowed in delight and pushed her snout into it, splashing water left and right and re-emerging with a glistening trout between her teeth. "How are you feeling?"

"Tired still, but otherwise okay," Merlin reassured her, refraining from telling her about how his insides felt raw and itching, roughly sewn together; how gold streaked across his vision; how his magic pulled at him with insistent force; instead he took bites of his stew and nodded at the other chieftains as they started to join them. "I'm sorry I worried you – I'm sorry I left you to fend for yourselves."

"None of us blames you, Emrys," Ari reassured him, even gracing him with a rare smile. "We should have foreseen that there would be complications. Truly, you've done everything and more than we could have expected."

"We'll see how the king shows his gratitude," Ruadan commented dryly. "If he won't just go back to hiding in his castle now that he no longer faces any threat."

"We all hope for change, but we agreed on patience," Iseldir pointed out calmly. "The king will have as much time as he needs to make his decision."

Aithusa tore into her last fish just as the three knights approached their group.

"It seems our peace offering has been well received," Elyan commented and Merlin ducked his head so his face would remain hidden. "We'll catch some more fish later, if you'd like."

"Thank you, Aithusa would certainly appreciate it," Merlin said. "But why peace offering?"

Aithusa chose that moment to swallow down the rest of her fish and turn to the knights with a croaking screech and a snap of her teeth.

"Aithusa didn't abide anyone coming close to you while you were resting," Hamo offered, warily looking at the small dragon. "She is very protective of you."

"I just wanted to check if you were still breathing and she almost took my hand off," Gwaine commented with a proud grin.

"Oh," Merlin said, not wanting to add a false apology and not knowing what else to say. He was glad Aithusa had kept everyone away; the thought of being startled awake by an unfamiliar touch, waking to someone hovering close, sent cold sweat down his back.

"We are glad to see you recovered," Leon said, even gracing him with a smile. "The king has been informed and would like to speak with all of you at your earliest convenience."

"We shall not keep the king waiting for long," Iseldir said. "Just as soon as Emrys has finished his meal."

"Thank you, Iseldir, but there's no need to delay on my account," Merlin said, getting up. "The stew was delicious, Dreda, but I think I'll stick to smaller portions for now. Shall we go?"

Elyan quickly detached from their group, hastening to warn the king of their arrival as the druids walked towards the barrier at a sedate pace, outwardly calm and unaffected. But Merlin could feel the excited buzzing of minds and magic, the stray thought that got broadcast to the others. _What does the king want? What is going to happen? You don't think...?_ Merlin was grateful, at least, that the many speculations, doubts and questions floating around him spared him from having to wonder for himself why Arthur wanted to speak with them. And the pull of his magic, getting more insistent with every step, did the rest. It was almost too much, his magic commanding his feet to move quicker than physically possible, a growing urge just under his skin, a narrowing of his vision until it was filled with the barrier. And Arthur, always Arthur, golden and beautiful and unreachable. Only a few feet away.

"I see you are back on your feet, good," Arthur said in greeting, fixing Merlin with his gaze for a moment before looking at all of them in turn. "I want to thank you all. You have saved this kingdom and your selfless actions have made me realise two things. For one, that a law that denies those who have gone well beyond their civic duty in protection of this land all rights can't be just. For another, that I do not want you as my enemy."

Next to Merlin, Ruadan gave a derisive snort. "What, the barrier around your fine castle wasn't enough of a clue for you?"

"You misunderstand me," Arthur gave back with his best diplomatic face. "I never doubted your strength nor underestimated the threat your magic posed to my kingdom. But fear is no reason to concede to an enemy. Trust and respect, however, are."

Merlin felt a shiver of pride, of hope, of awe because Arthur wouldn't say this lightly, merely for effect or to make a point. This was real. This was happening.

"I agree to your demands. Take down this barrier."

"You will lift the ban on magic?" Iseldir asked over the excited murmur and mental chatter that arose at Arthur's words.

"I will. We will negotiate about how to best implement this change. I have to warn you, the ban will not be lifted immediately, but I promise that from this day forth no one shall be imprisoned or executed on the charge of using magic alone."

"When will you lift the ban? On your deathbed?" Ruadan demanded angrily. "That's an easy concession to make."

Arthur clenched his yaw. Dreda rested a hand on Ruadan's arm, but many of the druids looked interested in the king's answer.

"My perceptions have changed, but not to such a degree that I think magic is completely harmless or that it doesn't need to be governed by strict rules," Arthur answered. "I hope our negotiations will help with that, but we will need time to find a solution that benefits all. Maybe just a few days, but more likely several weeks, even months. But there will be a palpable change and soon."

"These are not decisions to be taken lightly or hastily," Merlin pointed out. "We all knew that when we made this plan. We all agreed."

"Once we take down this barrier, we will have no more cards to play, Emrys," Ruadan retorted.

"I know you have doubts," Merlin offered. "But..." He couldn't quite put it in words, this lightness around his heart, the song of magic in his blood, the unaccountable faith Arthur always commanded of him.

"We have to trust in the future we will build together," Iseldir finished for him. "We will have to take a leap of faith, give each other an advance on trust and hope it doesn't go unrewarded."

There were murmurs of agreement and Ruadan lowered his head if not in agreement then at least in acceptance. "If that is the council's decision I will concur, of course."

Merlin felt Arthur's impatient gaze on them as the druids, one by one, gave their agreement, some with simple inclinations of the head, others with elaborate speeches and argumentations. But they did all agree.

"It is decided," Iseldir concluded. "We trust in your word, Sire. You shall have your kingdom back. A kingdom with magic."

Merlin felt his magic react to the words, warming his body and making his heart beat faster. The barrier flashed, like lightning contained, a rainbow of colours dancing over its surface, pulsing, shuddering.

"Emrys!" someone said in alarm, the voice indistinguishable through the rushing in his ears. "You can't do it alone. You have to wait till we're ready!"

But he couldn't control it, that rush of magic, golden lightning, smooth and jagged at the same time, aching and familiar. Too much for one man, too much for this feeble human shell, pressing against him from the outside and bursting forth from within until his skin felt rubbed down to a thin, translucent layer over exposed nerves. The barrier reacting to his maelstrom of emotions, feeding back into it, driving his body's magic up and up and up, filling the void inside of him to bursting, multiplying.

Aithusa gave a mournful cry and butted her head into the backs of his knees, making him stumble down, his hands catching his fall and all that surplus energy discharging into the cool soil. For a long moment he could only breathe, in and out, until the memories dissipated, until his magic calmed.

"I'm sorry," he muttered, still on his hands on knees. "I... It's too much. Please, can we just... please, now."

"Emrys." Hamo's feet, then his knees appeared in his line of vision. "You're not well. You need to rest."

"I need to be whole," Merlin pleaded, reaching out to grasp the druid's hand so that he might feel the tension lines between the two parts of his magic. "I need the barrier to be gone. Please."

"All right, all right," Hamo murmured, carefully pulling him to his feet. "Try to hold on for a little while longer."

"What is wrong with him?" Arthur's voice, but he missed the answer, missed most of the conversation that followed, barely registered when Lochru replaced Hamo at his side, only coming back to himself when the old man squeezed his arm with surprising strength and turned him towards the barrier.

"Whenever you are ready, Emrys," Lochru softly commanded in his mind, and it was as if the floodgates had opened.

The ritualistic words came easily, without thought, and then there was magic all around him, rushing through him, gold and fire and lightening. And something that was not quite pain, but close to it. His vision was clouded in gold, magic-blind, but he felt the barrier fall, crumble, dissipate and the magic flowing back into him, through him, back into the earth. It soothed the raw edges of his insides, kitted his fragile bones and rejuvenated his muscles. He was himself again, waking from a dream.

* * *

They gathered close to where the barrier had been as if held back by an invisible force and Merlin wasn't sure if he was the only one feeling a little lost, uncertain what would happen now, how they should proceed. He had received smiles and encouraging looks from the other druids, understanding and even apologies, and not one of them had reprimanded him for forcing their hand, for not allowing them time to deliberate or prepare further. Not even Ruadan was casting him reproachful looks. Besides, with his magic returned he felt better than he had in a long while, in equilibrium with himself, and he couldn't bring himself to feel overly guilty. Everything was calmer, the magic and his connection to the other druids stabilised, and with every breath that flew freely through his lungs he felt more like himself again as if the magic that had returned to him was somehow cleaner than when he had cast the spell.

They didn't have to wait long for the king and his knights and counsellors to arrive. Merlin was heartened to find that Arthur had foregone full armour, merely donning light chainmail under the bright red cloak of Camelot, a golden dragon stitched on one side, and a heavy crown on his head. It was a sign of respect, Merlin thought, that he had dressed up for them as if they were an envoy of dignitaries from another kingdom and not merely a rabble of druids with no lands or titles to their names.

"I take it everything went well?" Arthur demanded, barely waiting for the few nods he received before continuing. "Since this occurred a little more quickly than we had anticipated, the guest chambers are still being prepared, but they should be ready by evening."

"Begging your pardon, your Majesty, but what bearing do the guest chambers have on anything?" Iseldir questioned.

"Well, I assumed you would want to have use of them," Arthur gave back with equal confusion. "I know it is hardly adequate compensation for all the years you have had to spend in hiding, but I hope that you will at very least take it as a sign of my goodwill."

"We appreciate the thought, Sire," Dreda said, cutting off Ruadan's much less diplomatic reply. "But the forests and valleys are our home; they were never part of our punishment. The trees and mountain offer us with shelter; the rivers and lakes give us to drink; the herbs and plants provide us with food."

Merlin knew what she wasn't saying, that the wind and earth and water whispered lullabies of magic to them, that it cocooned them in safety and harmony, that no warm hearth or feathered bed could compare to that. It was something Arthur would never understand, would never be able to understand, but Merlin was beginning to hope that it would be okay if only Arthur realised that magic could be beautiful and good.

"I see," Arthur said in a tone of voice that implied that he didn't. "If that is your wish, you may of course keep camp here. But I hope you will all join me for a small feast tomorrow after which we may set down the schedule for our negotiations."

"We would be honoured, Sire," Iseldir reassured him.

"Good," Arthur answered before hesitating a moment. "There're just two things I need to know before I open my castle to you and I hope you do not take offense."

"That need not worry you. We'll gladly answer any questions you have," Iseldir said calmly, but Merlin felt his calm evaporate when Arthur turned his eyes on him.

"Are you..." Arthur cast around for the most diplomatic way of wording his question. "... in control again?"

"Yes," Merlin said, equally at a loss for the right words. "I apologise for -"

"Emrys has nothing to apologise for," Ari interrupted him. "The barrier was a strain on his magic, on all our magics, and it was our decision to take it down when we did."

"I wasn't insinuating that," Arthur corrected, and Merlin could just catch the trace of an annoyed huff in his voice. "But the ground was shaking; at least two windows cracked; the horses shied and the dogs hid under tables and stools. I need to know if that will happen again."

"It won't," Merlin answered, praying that he wasn't making a promise he wouldn't be able to keep. "I won't bring down your castle."

From the soft snort and the twitch of his lips, Merlin was reasonably sure that Hamo at least appreciated his attempt at humour though it fell flat in his mouth. Arthur only clenched his yaw.

"You wanted to ask something else, Sire?" Merlin asked carefully.

"I want these negotiations to be a success," Arthur started, but Merlin felt dread pool in his stomach because if Arthur had to sugar-coat it, it couldn't be anything good; he also didn't like the fact that Arthur was looking directly at him. "For that we will have to trust each other. But how can I be sure that you're not hiding anything when in fact you're hiding your face?"

His breath caught in his throat and dark spots began to dance in his vision as Arthur's words reverberated in his mind. ( _Using magic is against the law.)_ But it wouldn't be for much longer, would it? Arthur was changing his mind, slowly but surely, and his magic sang in his veins, for Arthur, always for Arthur, and one day, soon, he wouldn't have to hide it anymore. Bravery came easier when it was riding on the wings of desperation, he knew, but it came now as well, carried by hope.

"It's okay," he interrupted, Ruadan or Iseldir or both, cutting through the enraged chatter in his mind. "The king is right. We should not found our negotiations on secrets. I trust him to keep his word."

He didn't dare look at his king as he slowly raised his hands to his hood, hesitated only a second and pushed it back. The sound of a sharply indrawn breath finally prompted him to look up, past Gwaine, who was hastening towards him with a broad grin on his face, past Leon, Elyan and Percival, all looking at him with shock and wonder on their faces, until his eyes locked with Arthur's. They were cold and shuttered, none of his usual warmth or fierce determination shining through, just empty. It was somehow worse, so much worse than if Arthur had shouted at him or at least glared at him with hatred or disgust. Instead there was just this.

"Arthur..." his voice trailed off into hopelessness, like a hard hand had closed around his throat.

The king turned away, with nary a backward glance, and Merlin thought that his magic might flare at the obvious rejection, at the understated threat, but nothing, as if Arthur had snuffed it out with his cold disregard.

"Merlin, you sneaky bastard, I knew it, I knew it was you!" Gwaine was in front of him, ready to draw him into his strong, accepting arms, but Merlin couldn't help but shy back, stumbling into Aithusa, who took it as her cue to thrust her neck forward, snapping her teeth and giving her best snarl. "Whoah, mate, you know I'd never not be on your side, don't you?"

"'m sorry, I just... I can't..." Merlin mumbled, wrapping his arms tight around his body in the vain hope that it might keep his heart from dropping.

"Alright, it's alright," Gwaine replied, gentling his wild grin into something more tender. "It'll be okay, I promise. The princess just needs a little time to wrap his head around this, but he'll come around. And if not, you just remember that my loyalty belongs to him only by default, yeah?"

"Thanks," Merlin said, meeting his friend's eyes briefly. "I'm sorry I never told you."

"Nah, it's a dangerous secret, not something you'd tell a perpetual drunk. I get it," Gwaine waved his apology away, only managing to make Merlin feel worse.

"That's not why I didn't tell you. But it was bad enough I had to lie to everyone; I wasn't going to force you to lie for me as well."

"I would have, without a second thought," Gwaine replied. "Of course that's how I usually go about things."

Merlin felt a smile tug at his lips, carefully reaching out to squeeze the knight's arm. "I know. I'm lucky to you have you as my friend."

"Anytime. And now enough of this mushy stuff – I'm not nearly drunk enough for this," Gwaine answered, returning the squeeze with surprising restraint. "Speaking of which, you wouldn't happen to know where the druids stash their ale, would you?"

"Sorry, can't help you with that," Merlin answered, but his gaze was drawn over Gwaine's shoulder to where Arthur's other knights were steadily coming closer. "Can you do me a favour? Can you tell them that I'm sorry? I just can't do this right now..."

"Sure thing, go. I'll deal with them," Gwaine said, pushing him carefully away. "Go play with your dragon or something."

"Thank you." Merlin smiled briefly before gently tugging on Aithusa's wing and turning away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, just wanted to let you know that the next update might take a little longer. Hope you enjoyed this chapter!


	9. Of Swords and Sorcery

The guards hadn't seen him and once inside the castle it was easy to avoid other people, but the door to Arthur's chambers was more intimidating than it had any right to be. He had spent the afternoon with Aithusa, entertaining her by sending swirls of magic for her to chase, and her unbounded joy had done wonders to reconcile him with his magic. It wasn't evil; it wasn't something to be feared; it just was and Arthur would have to accept that _(wouldn't he?)_.

There was also the question of knocking, something which he had never wasted thought on before in spite of Arthur's frequent complaints. But now it seemed like a further invasion not to knock, a sign that he wasn't repentant, a sign of disrespect and disregard.

"Enter," Arthur's voice sounded through the thick wood and after a deep breath Merlin pushed the door open.

Arthur was sitting at the table, the remains of his dinner still spread around him and his golden hair in disarray as if he had run his hand through it repeatedly.

Merlin pushed the door shut to prevent himself from running away, pressing his back against it for stability. "Arthur."

"Are you going to put a spell on me now," Arthur asked, but it didn't sound like a question. "I publicly announced that I would give into your demands. No one would question it if the negotiations went a bit more smoothly for you."

"Are you going to kill me?" Merlin asked back. "The guards are only a shout away. I guess you gave your sword to be polished, but you could always throw the dagger in your belt."

"Is this funny to you?" Arthur snapped angrily. "Is it funny that you lied to me for years, betrayed my trust in so many ways that I can't even fathom them all?"

"Do you think being afraid for your life is a joke?" Merlin retorted. "Do you think I enjoyed lying to you, to everyone? Hiding who I was everyday and fearing that a moment of inattention would cost me my head? What do you want to hear, that I'm sorry? Of course I am, but we both know that will never be enough for you."

"I want to know why," Arthur insisted.

Merlin took a cautious step forward. "It wasn't a choice, Arthur. I didn't wake up one day and decide to practise magic. I was born this way, and I couldn't stop using magic, not when my mother begged me to and not when I learned the true extent of your father's law. It's not a choice."

"You chose to keep it a secret. You chose to lie to me or do you deny that as well?"

"Would you have wanted to know? While your father was still alive and you would have had to chose between saving my life and upholding your father's law? Or afterwards when you had so much on your plate already? I want to believe that you wouldn't have had me executed, but you would have sent me away and then no one would have stood between you and all the threats that you seem to assume can be dealt with a sword or sheer dumb luck."

"Say that I believe you. How does leaving Camelot and laying siege to my kingdom fit in with you wanting to protect me?" Arthur demanded, pushing the remains of his dinner halfway across the table in his anger.

Merlin swallowed, a hand going to the scar hidden beneath his tattoo, inevitably drawing Arthur's gaze. "I was scared that I would lose myself if I stayed. Arthur, you're not an easy person; you're arrogant and presumptuous and insulting on a good day. And you said a lot of things about me and about magic that made me hate you just a little. I couldn't risk staying and being the one to hurt you in the end. I had to do something, something different."

"Hurt me?" Arthur sounded encouragingly incredulous. "Over a few harsh words and a thrown cup or two."

Merlin snorted out a laugh. "One of these days I'll teach you how to count."

"Merlin." Arthur's tone was still warning, but something like fondness was carefully hidden beneath. It gave Merlin hope.

"Magic is not a sword you can take up in times of war and cast away when there's peace, Arthur. It's not a crossbow where you have to decide to notch an arrow before you can use it."

"Bolt, Merlin. Crossbows have bolts, bows have arrows," Arthur corrected him in exasperation.

"My point is that it doesn't require premeditation or even much thought. You saw that today. I didn't mean for the ground to shake or the windows to crack, but it happened. That was me being happy - can't you imagine the damage I could do when I'm scared or angry? I couldn't stay."

"So, you wanted to stay, to protect me. Then you left, to protect me. And now you're coming back, presumably to protect me," Arthur summed up, arching an eyebrow sarcastically. "No wonder you are such an abysmal servant with that kind of logical prowess."

"Are?" Merlin asked hopefully.

"This is not forgiveness," Arthur warned. "Nor do I find your explanation particularly convincing. But you've warned me against my uncle. You sent the dragon to defend my kingdom. If those were the only good deeds I could account to your name, they would still be enough to buy you a measure of goodwill. Don't squander it."

"Thank you, Sire," Merlin answered, tacking on a small bow.

Arthur snorted, but didn't comment further and they descended into a heavy silence.

"Well, if there's nothing you need, I'll let you retire," Merlin finally offered.

"Take the cot in the antechamber," Arthur ordered, getting up and turning away. "I don't want you sneaking around the castle."

"As you wish. Goodnight, Sire," Merlin replied softly, resolving to not stir up anymore old wounds and painful memories for tonight and just go along with Arthur's demands. He'd broach the issue of having to take care of a baby dragon at a later point.

* * *

"Rise and shine, your Majesty!" Merlin tried to put as much cheerful exuberance and non-magical charm into his words as humanly possible as he pulled the heavy curtains apart. "Your breakfast is served. I put out some clothes for you and convinced George to hand over your armour. He's weirdly possessive of that thing. I think he was using your chainmail as a pillow; there was this telling pattern on his cheek. Oh, and you might want to tell him yourself that his services are no longer required – that is unless you want to hear some more of his jokes because I'm pretty sure he was audience testing some in the kitchen."

"Shut up," Arthur grumbled, emerging from his pillows and blankets with mussed hair and a sleepy glare. "I still have half a mind to have you flogged and your blathering does little to change that."

"Ah," Merlin said, turning to the table to arrange Arthur's breakfast.

"Ah? That's all?" Arthur demanded, swinging out of bed and almost managing to do so without getting hopelessly tangled in the bed sheets. "No smartass comeback?"

"That wouldn't go well with shutting up, would it?" Merlin offered, moving to find a belt for Arthur.

"You're not supposed to... You never listened to me before!" Arthur pointed out angrily, pulling his shirt over his head. "If I wanted a good servant, George would still have his job and I would enjoy a... is that actually venison?"

"Yes." Merlin moved to straighten Arthur's bed.

"We haven't had venison for months and I know you are a disaster at hunting so how did you get it?" Arthur asked suspiciously. "Especially given that I forbade you to leave the castle."

"It was more that you forbade sneaking through the castle," Merlin corrected gently, moving over to pour Arthur something to drink. "Which I didn't, but your breakfast and your armour did not magically migrate to your rooms, though if you'd like I could certainly try that tomorrow."

"I doubt that would improve your performance," Arthur replied after a short hesitation. "Where did you get this? Did you ask Gwaine or one of the others?"

"No," Merlin answered. "Aithusa was kind enough to share."

"Who?"

"The dragon, the small one," Merlin explained. "She caught a deer this morning, and don't worry, that's not the piece she was chewing on."

"I see." Arthur turned back to his plate and Merlin took it as a good sign that he began to eat without reluctance.

"So... would you like me to start trying to explain myself now or would you rather stew a little more and hit me a few hundred times in the name of training?" Merlin asked carefully when Arthur was half finished with breakfast and had yet to say anything.

"I don't particularly like the thought of encouraging you to talk my ear off," Arthur said and Merlin slumped in defeat.

"Okay. Well, I'd better go if I want to be done with my chores in time for the feast." Merlin quickly gathered an armful of Arthur's dirty laundry and hastened towards the door, but Arthur stopped him.

"You always treated me as a friend, but it seems you never saw me that way," Arthur mused, looking at him. "So how can I trust you?"

"Arthur, I – "

"But I understand that revealing your... talents bore a great risk to you and I can't hate you for something that might have saved your life," Arthur continued without paying heed to Merlin's interruption. "My kingdom is in upheaval, due to changes brought about by you, and there's no one who can possibly tell me what to believe and whom to trust if not you."

"But you said you don't trust me," Merlin pointed out timidly.

"I don't have much choice in the matter. Magic is returning to this land, and I may not like it, but I have to believe it is the right decision. That means believing you."

Merlin sighed, dropping Arthur's laundry on a chair and approaching the king. "Magic... it can be beautiful. I want to show you." He cupped his hand, holding it out to Arthur. "Let me show you."

"I don't think that's a good idea."

"Trust me. Try. Please," Merlin begged. "Please."

Arthur rolled his eyes, sighed deeply, and finally held out his hand. Merlin grinned, carefully opening his own hand, whispered _blóstme_ and let a perfect cheddar pink fall into his hand. Arthur was silent for a moment.

Then: "A flower? A pink flower? Could you be any more of a girl, Merlin."

"I was trying not to scare you, Sire, but if you'd like I can certainly give you donkey ears again," Merlin gave back before adding more softly. "I used to pick them for my mother. They make me think of home and safety."

"Huh," Arthur commented, poking at the soft, pink petals. "It's real."

"It's magic."

"Right," Arthur murmured. "But magic is also sorcerers and witches enchanting swords and shields, conjuring up monstrous beasts and reanimating shadow knights, mixing poisons and ensnaring minds. It's not all as harmless as this."

"I know, but you've had magic at your side for years, helping you against just such threats," Merlin pleaded. "You read the reports we sent back to you, right? We've helped this kingdom. We've helped its people. As I've been helping you ever since I came to Camelot."

"Why? Why would you do that? That's what I can't wrap my head around."

Merlin hesitated a moment. "Just because I wasn't sure that you could be my friend, it doesn't mean that I didn't want to be yours. Friends help each other the best they can."

"And then you left," Arthur commented, talking over Merlin's wince. "No, you were right. I did have an extraordinary amount of **luck** ever since you became my manservant – except on hunts, there you're just a nuisance – so maybe you did try to help. And I'm sure your delicate feelings were hurt from time to time or that you wished you were actually handy enough with a sword to get in a hit every once in a while, but I was never in doubt about your loyalty."

"Arthur..."

"Did the druids force you to go with them? They couldn't have pulled this off without you," Arthur demanded, his voice growing steadily louder. "If you are in trouble I need to know, Merlin. And what about this tattoo? Is that how they are controlling you?"

He reached out to brush his fingertips against Merlin's neck and Merlin could only feel ( _drunk panting breaths_ ) someone else's touch, jerking back and raising his lightning-covered hands in defence. He might have cowered or given a pitiful whimper, he couldn't honestly say, but Arthur looked as if someone had punched him in the stomach. Merlin wondered vaguely if it had been him as the lack of air and the surplus of magic made his vision swirl in black and gold. He backed away, mumbling apologies under his breath.

"Merlin," Arthur's voice was uncharacteristically soft. "Here, take a seat and try to calm down. Have some breakfast."

He pulled out a chair for the young warlock, hovering indecisively but not quite daring to push him down into it. Merlin was strangely touched, though the white-blue flames on his hands did not abate even when he entwined his fingers and pressed them close to his palms.

"Just stay here. And put your hands on the table or something before you hurt yourself," Arthur ordered, after Merlin had curled up in the chair. "I'll get dressed."

He disappeared behind the privacy screen and Merlin could hear the rustling of fabric and the thunk of Arthur's boots as he stared down at his hands, now clutching desperately to the edge of the table, and tried to breathe.

When Arthur returned, fully dressed, Merlin was beginning to feel less panicked and more embarrassed. "I'm sorry."

Arthur dropped back into his own chair, pushing his still half full cup over to Merlin. "What did that bastard do to you?"

"What?" Merlin asked, completely thrown off course and feeling the next panic attack already creeping up. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"I've seen those handprints before." Arthur motioned to the burnt table. "On Annis' knight, and then you left. I'm not an idiot, Merlin. He hurt you. Dammit, what did he do to you? Did he... And all that blood! He almost killed you," He seethed, jumping up and starting to pace.

"I killed him," Merlin whispered. "I killed him and I endangered your peace."

Arthur laughed humourlessly. "Annis thinks he got what he deserved. Apparently he had a history of unchivalrous behaviour and if she could have found proof or a witness, she would have personally introduced him to the executioner. She'd thank you."

"But..."

"It was self-defence, Merlin. Given, magical self-defence, but I think we've established that my view on that is changing," Arthur told him.

"I didn't mean to kill him," Merlin admitted, staring down at the burnt wood. "I pushed him away and he fell and I was relieved." The table grew blurry before his eyes and something wet splashed onto his hand. "I was relieved."

"So am I," Arthur gave back, carefully resting his hand on Merlin's shoulder and giving it a gentle squeeze. "You don't know how relieved I am that you had magic to protect you when I failed."

"It's not your fault," Merlin protested.

"Yes, it is. You're my manservant, Merlin. That means that I get to order you around and use you as a useful pack mule and practise dummy. But it also means that you're under my protection and no-one, no servant, knight or foreign dignitary, has a right to lay one finger on you. It's my duty to protect you and I failed."

Merlin swallowed, quickly rubbing his hands over his eyes. "I seized the better part of your kingdom and stole the dragon's egg that you thought was destroyed when the tomb collapsed. We're even." He gave the king a hopeful, lopsided grin.

"Not by a long shot," Arthur gave back, pushing at his shoulder and then rubbing his knuckles over his head. "Now, training starts in half an hour and if you hurry you'll just have enough time to clean my rooms and sharpen my sword."

"Yes, Sire." Merlin agreed dutifully, getting up and starting to gather the used plates.

"Good, and..." Arthur paused. "Don't worry about mucking out the stables. George will take care of that."

Arthur turned away abruptly, busying himself with a pile of papers on his desk, but Merlin smiled at the unexpected warmth that spread in his chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know where I first read the analogy comparing Merlin's magic to Arthur's sword, saying that magic could be used for good and evil, just as Arthur's weapon of choice. But I do know that I started to think about it - and didn't quite agree. Thus the idea for this chapter :)


	10. Ere the Night Is Over

Merlin was bone-tired. Being Arthur’s manservant and Gaius’ apprentice had been demanding enough, but now he was also a druid and had to sit through endless discussions about the rights and duties of magic-users. They were making progress, though, and Merlin was glad to see that both parties were trying. Arthur was still wary about magic, about what it could do, and wanted systems in place to stop any abuse of power and keep an eye on anyone who was magically inclined. The druids had radically vetoed obligatory registration, pointing out that it would invite persecution and discrimination and that not everyone with magical talent actively practised or was even aware of their abilities. That had taken two entire days.

“Merlin, stop daydreaming and get started on my bath,” Arthur called, already shucking his shirt and starting on his belt. “The water won’t pour itself.”

“It’s past midnight.”

“I’m aware of that, which is why I asked you to get going. Run along now.” Arthur made shooing motions with his hand.

“Are you also aware that there are three flights of stairs between your chambers and the well? And that I’d have to take them at least five times, down and up, to get the water for your bath, not to speak of the time it will take to heat the water and bring out the bathtub?” Merlin demanded. “It’s past midnight, and I’ve been up since before dawn to get your breakfast, fix your tunics, polish your armour, walk your dogs and write down a schedule for negotiations today. I’m tired.”

“Well, then think of another way,” Arthur said offhandedly. “I know you can be resourceful with the right motivation. Take this as motivation.”

Merlin froze. “Magic is still banned.”

“But no longer punishable,” Arthur pointed out. “I’ll have my bath now, Merlin.”

“Okay,” Merlin said softly, his hands shaking even as the bathtub lifted off the floor, as it had done a hundred times before, but now under Arthur’s watchful gaze. He stumbled over to it when it was positioned in the middle of Arthur’s room and didn’t dare to look up from the steaming water that slowly rose in the bathtub.

“Would you like me to add some bath oils?” Merlin asked timidly when the tub was filled.

“Sure, and bring me that sponge,” Arthur said, already lowering himself into the water. “Your eyes glow when you do that.”

Merlin hummed in vague agreement, handing over the required item and dribbling some herbal oils into the water.

“I’ve noticed it before, but I always put it down to a trick of the light or a flight of imagination,” Arthur continued his ruminations. “Mostly when you were cheating at chores, though. I don’t remember you using magic to save me.”

“That might be because you have a habit of fainting at convenient times, Sire,” Merlin mocked, ignoring the pang in the region of his heart.

Arthur sent a splash of water in his direction in retaliation, soaking the front of Merlin’s tunic and his neckkerchief. Merlin sighed in frustration, nestling at the knot at the back of his neck until it came off, carefully wringing it out and putting it aside. When he looked up again, Arthur’s gaze was fixed on his neck and Merlin felt the familiar panicked discomfort rise up in him.

“Why did you get that?” Arthur demanded with the mixture of accusation and protectiveness that had become his standard, and Merlin saw his fingers twitch as if he once again wanted to reach out, touch, but then thought better of it.

Theirs was a strained peace, forgiveness held at bay by guilt, betrayal, hurt, anger. Some nights Merlin woke choking on his own magic and the feeling of unwanted hands under his clothes, and some mornings Arthur avoided his gaze and his attempts at conversation with a determination that pulled the floor from under Merlin’s feet. But there was also protectiveness in Arthur’s actions if not his words, in his refusal to have Merlin anywhere near the stables or send him through the castle at night. And now this, overt permission to use magic in his presence, wariness but no fear, curiosity, maybe even a hint of acceptance. They were making progress.

“We needed to be a unity to create the barrier,” he explained carefully. “The tattoo is my point of connection to their magic, and theirs to mine.”

Arthur scowled. “What does that mean? Can they draw on your powers? Can they control you? Did you even think to ask these things before you let them brand you?”

“It’s not like that,” Merlin protested. “It’s more of an awareness that I’m not alone. It helps me focus, gives me stability.”

Arthur still looked sceptical and Merlin found it difficult to explain something that he only understood on an instinctive level. The very fact of Arthur’s birth set him apart from everyone else, made him special and gave him power most only dreamed of, and in a way, it had been like that for Merlin, only that his gifts had often felt more like a curse, forbidden and damned instead of accepted and celebrated. Arthur would never understand how Uther’s propaganda had affected him as a child, how his mother’s love was not always a sufficient buffer against the fear and hatred of magic all around him, how alone and scared he had been any given day of his life. And by extension he wouldn’t understand how good it felt to be accepted, no strings attached, to have the support of people who didn’t see him as a monster.

“Here,” Merlin said finally, reaching out for Arthur’s hand and pressing it against his tattoo, ignoring the flare of panic as best he could. “Concentrate on me. I’ll show you.”

Arthur’s wet fingers pressed only lightly against the black lines, but Merlin had to remind himself to stay in the present ( _blood gushing out between his fingers_ ). He focussed on his magic, let it build up in the palm of his free hand, a spark of energy that made eddies dance over the surface of the water, drew it up in spirals and animal shapes; and the calm in the back of his mind, a levee against the storm of his magic like providing him with horse tack for a beautiful, wild stallion. He let the magic ebb after a while, drew the curtain closed on the connection to the druids and released Arthur’s hand when he was sure the king had experienced what he had wanted to show him.

But Arthur’s fingers stayed against his skin, tracing the intricate triskelion on his neck and Merlin couldn’t stop his eyes from drifting close, leaning slightly into the gentle touch that would never mean what he wanted it to mean. Not after everything that had happened ( _he best not find out, then_ ).

He jerked away, feeling guilty and lost when Arthur withdrew his hand immediately. He couldn’t look at Arthur, but felt the water sloshing over the rim of the tub when the king got out.

“Get me that towel,” Arthur ordered, his back to Merlin, and Merlin’s magic flared reacting to some indefinable emotion in the air.

“Sure,” he murmured, floating the towel over to Arthur and then busying himself with letting the water out of the tub and moving it back to its normal place so that he wouldn’t stare at Arthur’s golden form.

When he was done, Arthur had changed into his night clothes and was slipping into bed. Merlin made sure the fire in the fireplace would burn through the night and then started to douse the candles.

“Pleasant dreams, Sire,” Merlin whispered, using the last candle to light his way.

“Tell me,” Arthur stopped him. “Tell me how you saved my life.”

“Aren’t you tired?”

“I’m curious,” Arthur replied, punching his pillow as if that would make it any more comfortable. “Tell me.”

Merlin sighed, but obediently reversed his steps, dropped himself into the high-backed chair next to Arthur’s bed. Arguing with the king was frustrating in the best of cases, and fruitless in most, and he simply was too tired to bother with it now. And Arthur wanted to know, had a right to know even; Merlin couldn’t deny him.

“There once was a young warlock who lived in a small village at the edge of a mighty kingdom,” he started when he had settled and gathered his courage.

“Merlin,” Arthur interrupted, annoyance clear in his voice.

“That’s right. His name was Merlin and though their life was simple and sometimes harsh, he was happy, content to help his mother and fool around with his best friend. But his mother grew steadily more worried that someone would find out about his magic, that they would harm him or take advantage of him. So she decided to send him to an old friend of the family so that he might teach the young warlock how to use his gifts more responsibly.”

Arthur had turned to him, his eyes open and attentive even if he wasn’t looking directly at him. And Merlin knew that he couldn’t stop now, that he had to start somewhere and this might as well be it.

“The young warlock was sad to leave his mother and friend behind, but he was also excited that he would be living in a real castle and get to see the world beyond the confines of the village. However, he chose a bad day to arrive at the castle for the kingdom was celebrating twenty years of driving out the plague of magic and the king had just sentenced a man to death for the crime of sorcery...”


	11. All the King's Men, Part One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy belated Hallowe'en!

Merlin was sitting on the ground cross-legged, enjoying the few weak rays of sun that managed to make their way through the thick canopy of clouds, and smiling at Aithusa’s antics. He was trying to get her used to his Dragonlord’s voice by giving her orders she would want to obey so that she wouldn’t start to fear him for the power he held over her. He set her chasing after sticks, scraps of cloth and whatever else his magic decided to pick up. She seemed to enjoy it at least, careening at full speed after one of Arthur’s gauntlets, snapping her teeth when she almost had it, jumping and flapping her wings when it rose high into the air.

“Aithusa, come here,” he called when the white dragon caught the gauntlet with a crunch of metal.

She obediently bounded over to him, dropping the mangled metal glove in his lap and pushing enthusiastically into his touch when he started to caress her scaly head.

“Is that my gauntlet?” Arthur’s voice suddenly demanded from behind him, startling Merlin and causing Aithusa to hiss testily. “You do know what it means if someone throws down a gauntlet, don’t you, Merlin? Are you sure you’re up for that?”

Merlin looked down at the mutilated gauntlet, brushing his fingertips gently over the dents and holes and watching as his magic repaired the damage. He then got to his feet, holding the gauntlet out to Aithusa.

“Give this to Arthur,” he commanded, trailing his hand along her spine as she slipped past him. “I’d be glad to offer you a challenge, Sire, if you’ll allow it.”

Arthur had never withdrawn his permission to use his magic to do his chores, nor had he objected to Merlin entertaining Aithusa with magic, but Merlin had also been careful never to use magic on Arthur himself, always aiming his spells well away from his king. But of course Arthur had never been posed a challenge he didn’t want to accept and as soon as Aithusa dropped the gauntlet in front of his feet, he picked it up, raising an unimpressed eyebrow at the holes where Aithusa’s teeth had once again pierced the metal.

“Weapon of choice, obviously, and till first blood,” Arthur stated before holding out the gauntlet to Merlin. “You better fix that.”

Merlin rolled his eyes, brushing his fingertips once more over metal. “You could just use another pair.”

“You could just teach your dragon to sheath her teeth,” Arthur replied. “And what are you feeding her, anyway? I’m sure she’s not supposed to grow this quickly.”

“Because you’re such an expert on dragons,” Merlin mocked, patting Aithusa’s head. “She’s perfect.”

Aithusa crowed happily, her tail forming a half-circle around Merlin’s legs and her right wing bumping his shoulder when she shifted. “Want to spread your wings for a little while?” he asked, rubbing his fingers over her snout.

Aithusa grumbled out a purr, trippled a few steps to the left and then pushed off the ground. She was doing well with the launch and the flying itself, but her landings still were kind of disastrous. Merlin looked up at her for a moment, the graceful fluidity of her sleek body as it uncurled in flight, before turning back to Arthur.

“Are you ready, Sire?”

There was a calculating gleam in Arthur’s eyes that Merlin knew all too well, the one that said that the odds were stacked against them, but that Arthur would go to his grave before admitting to it; and that he’d drag Merlin down with him, which ultimately meant that Merlin had to redistribute the odds without anyone noticing and without getting any credit. But this time it would be different, this time he would play his wildcard against Arthur and not for him. Despite the fact that he’d already agreed, that he himself had issued the challenge, he wasn’t sure if he could really do it, if he could raise his magic against Arthur. He suddenly felt dizzy.

“Hey.” Arthur gripped his shoulders, squeezing until he looked up. “It’s a friendly competition. No one will get hurt, but I need to know what magic can do. What you can do.”

“I don’t want you to look at me like I’m your enemy. Not even if it’s a game,” Merlin admitted. “Don’t... Don’t ask that of me.”

“If you were a knight, the first thing I’d put to the test would be your loyalty,” Arthur explained, tightening his grip on Merlin’s shoulders when the young warlock tried to curl into himself. “But I already know that there’s no one who’s more firmly on my side. So now I need to know whether you can handle yourself in a fight.”

“I’m not a knight,” Merlin protested weakly.

“And yet you’re always in the thick of things,” Arthur replied with a teasing smile. “You have my word this will not change the way I see you.”

“You can’t promise that.”

“I’m king. I can do whatever I please, Merlin,” Arthur answered pompously, ruffling Merlin’s hair before releasing him. “And in any case, I’m sure to win. You’ll be the one to give me a massage once we’re done here.”

Merlin laughed and rolled back his shoulders. “As you wish, Sire.”

“Now you’re getting it,” Arthur commented, fastening his gauntlets and picking up a shield. He then hefted his sword, assumed a fighting stance and looked expectantly at Merlin.

Merlin sighed and wrenched Arthur’s sword out of his hand with a tilt of his chin. “This is pointless.”

Before Arthur could retort something or pick up his sword, Aithusa swooped down from above with an enthusiastic screech, almost toppling over herself in her bid to get to the sword. She carefully took it in her mouth and trotted over to Merlin.

“Thank you, Aithusa,” Merlin murmured, accepting Arthur’s sword and rewarding Aithusa with a long scratch of her neck. “Do you want to play with Arthur, now? He likes to be chased.”

“Hey, what, no,” Arthur protested immediately. “That’s against the rules.”

“You said I should demonstrate my talents, didn’t you?” Merlin gave back, keeping a tight hold on Aithusa’s wing so that she wouldn’t follow his suggestion just yet. “I’m a Dragonlord, Arthur. I’m a warlock. You can’t fight me with sword and shield.”

Arthur arched an eyebrow. “And what if I call in back-up as well? Leon, hey, Leon, gather the others and come join me. Bring some blunted swords as well.”

Merlin bit his lips to stop himself from making a comment about Arthur just being full of bad ideas today and turned his attention back onto Aithusa, smoothing out her wings and trying to get her to curb her exuberance.

“Stop daydreaming, Merlin,” Arthur demanded. “Let’s see how you do against all of us.”

Merlin exhaled, sending the other knights shy smiles even as they began to circle him. Gwaine had been great at running interference so far, but with Merlin’s job it was impossible to avoid them completely. Leon had taken his cues from Arthur, of course, treating Merlin with strained normality and gusts of suspicion. Percival, sparing with words as was his wont, had merely clapped Merlin on the shoulder and sent him a lenient smile, while Elyan had thanked Merlin for helping Gwen, but seemed wary in his presence. Merlin couldn’t blame him, seeing as Elyan’s father had been executed for allegedly practising magic, but it still hurt.

“I’d really rather clean up your rooms,” Merlin pleaded, backing up a step. “Or you know, polish your armor. Things manservants are supposed to do? This is not in my job description.”

“Shut up, Merlin,” Arthur admonished, raising his sword and nodding at the other knights. “On three. One... two... THREE!”

“ _Wyrtwalaþ!_ ” Merlin commanded and watched only with mild interest as the earth around their feet split open, growing up their legs like the roots of a tree and thus froze them in place. “Do you want to yield now or should I put your own swords against your throats?”

Gwaine laughed, trying to free his leg a few more times before ramming his sword into the soil. “I’m good.”

“No one likes show-offs, Merlin,” Arthur admonished. “At least try to keep it realistic. You never did this in the past.”

“Because I always had to make sure nobody saw me,” Merlin pointed out. “I don’t know what you expect of me.”

Merlin also suspected that Arthur didn’t know it himself.

Arthur huffed out a breath, almost losing his balance when Merlin released them from his magic hold. “New rule: You’re not allowed to incapacitate more than one person at a time. And use different... tricks.”

On Arthur’s command, the knights feathered out, circled around him and tried to get into his blind spot. Merlin didn’t like it. He didn’t like the feeling of observant eyes on his back or the sound of chainmail and swords. But Arthur’s word was law and Merlin couldn’t not obey.

The first few attacks were tentative and easy to rebuff, but around round five Arthur and his knights became more organised, exploiting every moment of inattention and distraction, coming down faster and harder on him. Aithusa was enjoying this new game, weaving through the knights and doing her best to run them over, but on Arthur’s orders none of the knights harmed her. Merlin was grateful for that, but he couldn’t stop himself from focussing more on the knights she was close to so that he might divert a wayward blade and protect her in time.

He sent a ball of light to hover tauntingly close to Elyan’s face so that he wouldn’t be able to aim his crossbow properly, then swirled to halt Arthur’s progress by making a sinkhole spread before his feet. And then he felt cold steel against his jugular and couldn’t think anymore. A burst of breath against his ear, a compact body settling more firmly against his back, and Merlin just couldn’t. Couldn’t do this again. Couldn’t lose it again. Couldn’t. Couldn’t. Couldn’t calm down.

“Gwaine, back up and drop the sword,” Arthur’s voice rang out clear through the rushing of his blood ( _magic_ ), and Merlin hazily wondered why the king always commanded his attention.

The pressure against his back, the cold edge against his throat disappeared and he hunched over, curling up into a ball of uncontrollable energy, consumed by his magic, swallowed by it, the scent of lightening and fire in his nostrils.

“Merlin,” Arthur said, a fistful of clarity through the haze of his panic. “Just breathe, all right? I’m here, but you don’t have to talk to me yet. Just try to calm down.”

“Can’t,” Merlin managed between heaving breaths, referring to all of Arthur’s suggestions.

“Yes, you can. I’ve sent the others away so you can take as much time as you need,” Arthur replied, his usual commanding tone trying to be soothing. “It really is... I’m not angry. You did nothing wrong.”

“How can you say that?” Merlin demanded angrily.. “This is important to us. We tried so hard to make you change your mind about magic so that we could live in peace and now... How can you believe anything we said when I’m doing this!” He hit the burnt earth in frustration, sending ripples through the ground.

“There’s a simple rule in training: If you switch on from practise swords too early, someone is liable to get hurt.” Arthur reached out, a firm hand landing on his shoulder. “I should not have pushed you past your level of comfort. This is not your fault and I’m not going to hold it against you – or let it affect our negotiations.”

Merlin jerked, but then his magic inexplicably calmed, and when Arthur didn’t pull back, he settled into the touch. Arthur shifted closer until their sides were aligned, Merlin half tucked under his arm.

“I think I understand now why you felt you had to leave,” Arthur offered. “I’m not saying that I agree with your decision, but you were afraid – you still are – and that’s not what I want for you. You shouldn’t ever have to feel that way.”

"Gwaine... he just startled me. It's nothing," Merlin mumbled defiantly.

Arthur snorted in disbelief and brushed his fingers over Merlin's throat, maybe to make a point, but Merlin felt the tattoo's magic spark, coming to life under Arthur's touch and reminding him that he had the druids to anchor him. He slumped in relief until his head almost rested on Arthur's chest, the king's fingertips tracing the swirling black lines and the raised scar underneath.

They sat in silence for a while and Arthur's fingers gradually wandered up until he was playing with the fine hair at Merlin's neck. Merlin didn't know if he should be more surprised at that or at the fact that Arthur wasn't trying to escape the stillness of the moment. Arthur didn't deal well with inactivity, with sitting and thinking (unless he was brooding) and not acting.

Arthur was the one to break the silence. "I saw you with the druids and your dragon. You looked happy, carefree. It made me realise how... not-you you've been with me."

"And you thought being attacked from all sides would cheer me up," Merlin said, but not in disbelief. Arthur would think sparring and mock battles were something fun, something soothing.

"I wanted to show you that you can be yourself around me," Arthur replied. "That I accept your magic."

"But you don't," Merlin pointed out mildly. "I know you want to pretend like nothing changed, but everything is different now. If you give me permission to be myself you have to realise that I won't be like I was before. That was a lie."

"It wasn't all a lie, though, was it?" Arthur asked, tugging gently on a strand of hair. "That you talk too much and hate hunting, that's true. That you're stupidly loyal and tell me when you think I'm making a mistake, that's true as well. Your magic doesn't change who you are. In fact, I think it might make you more so. Don't hide anymore."

"You still want that? Even after this?" Merlin asked, making an aborted motion at the burnt and ravaged ground around them.

"Especially after all this," Arthur corrected. "No matter how hard we came down on you, you never so much as nicked some skin or singed a hair. That's the man I hope to always have at my side."

"I told you, I’m not a weapon," Merlin pointed out softly.

“To be fair, you only said that your magic is not a weapon,” Arthur argued.

“Iseldir told you that we wouldn’t be your warriors and he was speaking for all of us. You can’t expect us to wield our magic for your purposes and not feel it.”

“Feel it?” Arthur questioned, pulling him a little closer. “Feel it how?”

“After every tournament, every fight, every battle, I mend your armour and polish your sword. I make sure they are clean again, not damaged,” Merlin tried to explain. “I can’t do that with my magic. I can’t… It stays with me, all the things I’ve done, the lengths I went to to protect you, to keep you safe.”

“You know you’re not the only one who’s affected by what we have to do, the choices we have to make,” Arthur replied softly. “It’s a lesson my father impressed on me early: You can’t save everyone and you can’t let it get to you.”

“I know that,” Merlin said, biting his lip. “I don’t want to, but I know. But if I didn’t take care of your weapons they would rust, corrode, and that’s what will happen to my magic, to me, if you don’t think about what you ask of me.”

“I never asked you to use your magic to help me,” Arthur protested, his hand slipping away. “I didn’t even know everything you did until recently.”

“You asked me to take Kilgharrah to scare off Odin,” Merlin replied softly. “And it was my decision to do it because you were not my king, then, not exactly anyway. I could have refused. But you are my king and I’m your servant, and I know you have enough responsbility already without me adding to the burden, but I need you to understand that I could crush your enemies and wipe out entire kingdoms.” Merlin swallowed, dashing a hand over his eyes. “Don’t… Don’t ask that of me. Don’t turn me into that.”

Merlin could feel Arthur’s chest rise in a deep inhalation and tensed, wondering if he had pushed Arthur too far this time. If telling the king to not use the power at his disposal was somehow worse than hiding said power for years. “I’ve always relied on you to tell me when I was acting like a – what’s that word you use – clotpole? If I’m going to be that great king you expect me to be, I’ll need that more than ever. So, I promise to always respect your concerns, especially in regards to your magic, if you promise to always tell me about them. Deal?”

“Deal,” Merlin managed, barely a breath, a sigh of relief, and Arthur squeezed his shoulder before letting go and pushing to his feet.

"Well, now that that's settled, I'll allow you some time to clean up here and catch that wayward dragon of yours. But don't forget the meeting this afternoon and that massage you owe me." Arthur grinned, bright and confident, and ruffled Merlin's hair.

Merlin sighed good-naturedly, secretly relishing in Arthur's casual intimacy, and then set to work, rightening practise targets, collecting swords, arrows, shields, and repairing dents and holes with a gentle touch of magic-tinged fingers. It was so easy, natural, that Merlin struggled to remember how if ever could have been different, how he had survived it.

When everything was as it should be, he turned his back on the castle, steering towards the forest to look for Aithusa. It wasn't as much as a surprise as it should have been when he found her in a clearing not far from the camp. With Mordred.

Aithusa was drawn to the druid boy for some reason Merlin was not keen to look into, and when she wasn't with Merlin or Dreda, she almost inevitably drifted towards Mordred. She crowed happily when she spotted Merlin, lifting her head, but making no move to leave the boy’s side. Mordred was looking at him with old eyes in a young face and Merlin sighed inaudibly before sitting down on Aithusa's other side. How could he resent a child for a future that might never come to pass?

They sat in silence, Aithusa a contently grumbling buffer between them. Merlin couldn't quite relax, the worry for Arthur a constant buzz in the back of his mind, but the aura of sadness that clung to Mordred like a wet shirt reminded him that this was not his enemy, just a child, who could no more understand his role in the the greater scheme of things than Merlin himself.

When he got up a while later to join Arthur and the druids for another day of negotiations he petted Aithusa's head and then turned to Mordred. "She likes chasing things, if you feel like entertaining her for a while longer."

" _I will take care of her_ ," Mordred answered mentally with a solemn nod. " _I promise._ "

Merlin smiled and it came easy. The future was as bright as it ever had been and Arthur as safe as Merlin could make him. He'd leave predicting and preempting the future to Morgana.


	12. All the King's Men, Part Two

Merlin bit back a groan, running a hand through his hair and trying to massage the tension headache away without drawing attention to himself. It wasn't even a confict between Arthur's gridlocked views on magic and the actual practitioners of magic this time, but Ari's suggestion that the clans should lay claim to different parts of the kingdom and the resulting discussion on who would get allotted which magically powerful or otherwise significant site. Arthur was doing his best to mediate, but with no actual knowledge of magical rituals, currents and nexi he couldn't do much more than call for calm.

Arthur cleared his throat, causing Ruadan to cut his tirade short. “I am honoured that you feel comfortable bringing these matters before me, but you have demonstrated admirable solidarity so far and to descend now into squabbles about territory issues does seem like a step back. Surely you can all have use of the locations in questions and celebrate your rituals together?”

Iseldir inclined his head approvingly. Merlin grinned and Arthur kicked him under the table while the druids made sounds of agreement and Ruadan assured Dreda that of course she could hold the winter solistice at her accustomed place.

“So you condone the practise of the Old Religion?” Ari questioned pointedly and Merlin had to take a bow at so much slyness if that had been his endgame.

“As long as it does not endanger the people of this kingdom - of course,” Arthur said without missing a beat and Merlin felt another wave of pride for his king.

Merlin noted the looks of satisfaction on the druids' faces, the quiet murmur of happiness in the back of his mind.

“Now that that is settled, I would also like to bring something to the table,” Arthur spoke up, looking around the gathered men and women. “Experiences in the past have taught me that not all sorcerers shy away from violence and that not everyone has good intentions. I have every hope that magical and non-magical people can live in peace and every faith in the strength of my knights, but it seems unrealistic to expect them to uphold these new laws without magical assistance.”

“We did tell you that we would not fight for you, Sire,” Iseldir pointed out not unkindly.

“I’m not asking you to,” Arthur replied. “I’m asking you to help Merlin.”

Merlin winced, an instinctive reaction perhaps at being the focus of attention. Arthur's boot nudged against his calf.

“Arthur, that's...” Merlin tried, but Arthur quelled him with a look.

“Merlin has had to shoulder too much in the last few years and I would feel better if he had more in the way of support for the coming challenges. What form that support takes is up to you.”

A few of the druids still seemed wary with the same caution Merlin often felt at Arthur’s ideas, but Merlin also saw some nods of agreement and pensive expressions.

“Many of the tasks ahead of us will need our joined efforts. You can be sure that Emrys will not stand alone,” Iseldir offered and the discussion moved on to other topics that were no less controversial or heavily debated.

Merlin felt exhaustion sneak up on him once more, the creeping tendrils of pain snaking up his temples, a tension spreading up his spine. There was something, some indefinable feeling of dread even though the druids remained amiable enough, no more combative than unsual. But slowly, insidiously his breaths shortened as if his lungs couldn't fill to full capacity anymore, and he had to curl his fingers into the leg of his pants to keep them from shaking.

And then the first scream split his head, followed by a dozen others. “ _Attack!”_ and “ _Protect the children!”_ and “ _Run!”_ and _“Help!”_ over and over again in a myriad of voices. Merlin's chair scraped back in accord with the others, the voices indistinct, panicked, furious, and he shook of Arthur's hand, started running.

By the time they reached the camp, it wasn't a battlefield. The attack was over, but the signs of it were everywhere. There were arrows and spears stuck in tents and trees, discarded on the ground, trampled on and broken. One of the fires had spread, leisurely eating up the brown grass around it. And the druids who had remained behind, women and children mostly, were huddled around something. Aithusa's mournful cry cut through the haze in his mind.

He pushed through the circle, curving his shoulders to make himself as small as possible and nearly froze in his tracks when he saw why they were all standing there. Aithusa was curled around a small body, the body of a child, and Merlin didn't need to see the dark hair or the pale skin to know who it was. There was an arrow protruding from his stomach, blood soaking his tunic and smearing on his hands and arms, on Aithusa's white scales.

Merlin dropped to his knees next to Mordred, trying to stem the bloodflow with his own hands. “Do something,” he whispered. “Help him.”

“Emrys...”

“He's not dead,” Merlin cut off whoever had said his name. He could feel how the small chest barely moved under his hands. “Help him.”

Aithusa crowed pitiously, snuffled closer, but Merlin couldn't focus past the blur of Mordred's little face. This wasn't the man who would kill Arthur. It was just a child, an innocent child, and Merlin didn't care what it would mean, how it would affect his own destiny, he just wanted him to live.

“Help him,” he repeated again, harder, louder this time, looking around until he caught Dreda's eyes. “Help him, now.”

“Oh, honey.” Dreda sighed, but dropped down next to him, carefully pushing away his hands and Mordred's soaked tunic. “There's not much I can do. Only ease his passing.”

“No,” Merlin protested, ignoring the stinging in his eyes. “He's just a child.”

Mordred gave a soft gasp, barely more than a sigh, and his eyelids fluttered revealing his pale blue eyes. “ _'s good,_ ” Merlin heard in his head. “ _This is a better fate._ ”

“No,” Merlin protested, grasping his fragile hand and pressing it against his chest. “You'll be fine. You'll be fine.”

“ _Emrys,_ ” it trailed off into nothingness, and even more than the absence of a pulse Merlin felt the sudden absence of magic, the emptiness.

Aithusa's screech tore the air and Merlin felt like his strings had been cut, the magic that tethered him to the earth boiling up. He folded over, hardly heard Dreda's reassurances over the pounding of his magic. Had he invisioned protecting Arthur like this, by letting an innocent child die? Was that part of the grand design? The voices were trapped inside his head, too many thoughts, accusations, theories, blind panic, that they pressed against his ears, his eye sockets, his heart, his lungs.

Mordred hadn't been the only one hurt, he could feel it deep in his bones, picked up a stray comment or moan of pain here and there, felt Aithusa's blood soak his side, so hot it was almost scalding. The roar burst from his throat, half Dragon tongue, half something pure anguish, and even through his gold tinged vision he saw the red cloak that spread over one of the attackers, saw the small golden dragon stitched into the fabric. The earth shuddered.

The druids were staring at him, but they made no move to calm him down, stop him. They looked a combination of shell-shocked and vindicated and it made so much horrible sense. The time for diplomacy, hope and peace was over and the druids would not take another attack lying down. They would pay back Arthur in his own currency and Merlin would make a formidable weapon. Merlin couldn't find it in him to be offended, so consumed by rage. Rage at Arthur, who had betrayed him ( _again_ ). The ground split in an imitation of the tear tracks running down his face and magic whipped around his frame in curls of colour.

“Merlin!” When he turned towards Arthur, the golden billows around him made him look like a demon, on fire and wrathful. “Merlin, listen to me. Merlin!”

The words were meaningless with Mordred's blood drying on his hands, Aithusa's pain trickling over their connection, the buzz of a thousand angry thoughts.

“Merlin, look at me!” Arthur demanded, lightly jumping over the cracked earth and avoiding the smouldering grass with fleet-footed grace. “Merlin, I know how this looks, what you all think, but I swear to you: These were not my men.”

The murmur changed, but Merlin couldn't focus, couldn't listen to more of Arthur's lies.

“Merlin, please,” Arthur - it sounded like begging, but Arthur never begged - and he was too close to ignore. “Please, I swear to you. Just look at that man; he's not a knight.”

“You promised,” he sounded distant to his own ears, like it wasn't his own voice.

“I did, and I wouldn't betray you. I wouldn't break a promise. You know that. You know me, Merlin. Look at him, please,” Arthur pleaded.

Arthur's hands landed on his shoulders and Merlin suddenly snapped back into reality, instinctively pulled back his magic so as not to hurt his king.

“Good,” Arthur murmured, still uncomfortably close. “Just give me this much - look at him and tell me if he's one of my knights.”

Against his better jugdement Merlin turned his head, looked past the pale-faced druids and Aithusa's curled up frame to where the attacker lay. He was dead, Merlin knew, and he was wearing the livery of the Knights of Camelot. But Merlin had never seen him before.

“You know all of my knights,” Arthur said softly, insistently. “I did not order this attack. I entered these negotiations in good faith and that's how I intend to end them.”

Arthur caught him before he could collapse to the ground, strong arms winding around his middle.

“Promise me,” Merlin pleaded, his face muffled against Arthur's chest. “Give me your word.”

“I promise that I would never betray you like this,” Arthur replied without hesitation. “I promise.”

Merlin felt himself relax at the unflinching honesty in Arthur's tone, the strong, sure heartbeat under his ear. “He's dead.”

“I know, and we'll find who ever did this, but it wasn't me,” Arthur assured him, his voice slightly raised as if he was addressing more than just Merlin. “I have opened my castle to all of you. Invited you to watch and take part in the knights' training. Tell me: Did you recognise any of the men who attacked you?”

There was no immediate answer and Merlin had time to focus on the way Arthur was cradling him close, his fingers carding gently through his hair as if he was something precious and fragile. As if Arthur would protect him, even though Arthur was the one who needed protection. Merlin wanted to laugh, but it came out as a sob and Arthur gathered him even closer.

“That doesn't prove anything,” Ruadan pointed out, angry murmurs rising once more in the wake of his argument. “It would have been easy for you to keep a few of your men out of sight.”

“Just as easy as it would have been for anyone to dress up in stolen cloaks and second-hand armour,” Arthur replied.

“You waited until our women and children were unprotected!” someone accused, but Merlin didn't recognise the voice. “When you knew we would be at our weakest!”

“Why would I do that? Attack someone who posed only a minimal threat and enrage those who could easily raze my kingdom to the ground? This attack was intended to drive a wedge between us, to halt our negotiations, and who ever did this, achieved just that.”

There was frustration, even anger, in Arthur's voice now, but he hadn't released Merlin from his protective hold, shielding him from the tense silence around them.

“There's magic on that cloak,” Hamo finally offered, his voice soft and hesitant. “A glamour, I think. We should tend to our wounded and not jump to conclusions.”

“If you'll allow it Gaius, the court physician, will see to your injuries,” Arthur offered. “And my knights - ”

A familiar roar interrupted him, revebrating through Merlin's body, sparking his magic and reminding him of his other protegé. He pulled away from Arthur, raised his eyes briefly to Kilgharrah, and then kneeled down next to Aithusa. Bile rose in his throat at her mangled left wing, the still fragile humerus snapped and bone protuding between blood-coated scales. She whined helplessly, pressing her head against Merlin's chest in a mimicry of the position he had been in earlier with Arthur.

“She tried to protect us, the children and Mordred,” Ethel said timidly.

Merlin caressed over the smooth scales on her head, avoiding her blood as best he could though it still burned his fingertips. He hadn't known that a dragon's blood was like fire. Shouldn't he have known that? Maybe if he had paid more attention to Aithusa, hadn't been so busy with Arthur and all his problems, she wouldn't have latched onto Mordred, wouldn't have been hurt. But now she was in pain, both physical and emotional, and Merlin had no idea how to fix this.

Kilgharrah's arrival forced the gathered druids and knights to disperse.

“She's hurt,” Merlin managed past the the lump in his throat. “Can you help her?”

“Only a Dragonlord can heal a dragon, young warlock” Kilgharrah replied, his huge head brushing against Merlin's shoulder.

“I don't know how,” Merlin confessed. “I don't know anything.”

“Sometimes it’s belief not knowledge we need,” Kilgharrah said, gently nosing at Aithusa's side. “I believe, young warlock.”

“I need to know,” Merlin whispered. “How can I do what's right, if I don't know?”

Kilgharrah laughed softly and Merlin only then realised that the dragon wasn't angry, not even agitated. Somehow he thought it would have been easier if he had been. “How can you do anything, if you do not believe?”

“Would it kill you to be a little less cryptic and little more helpful?” Merlin snapped, tired and angry. “Can you at least give me the healing spell for Aithusa?”

“Open your mind,” Kilgharrah commanded, and Merlin braced himself against the ground, trying to free himself from all these swirling thoughts, the cacophony of voices that still rebounded in his head. The sudden influx of knowledge was like a gust of icy wind on a hot summer day - too frightening in its intensity to offer real relief.

But the words for the incantantion, the focus and intent were there, and he suddenly saw Aithusa's wound with different eyes. He carefully unfolded her wing, murmuring soothingly at her protest and concentrated on what he needed to happen - the bone to mend, the flesh to knit back together, the skin and scales to smooth. His hands started to glow a soft gold, heat emenating from his palms and the guttural tones of the Dragon tongue falling from his lips.

When he dropped his hands, Aithusa flapped her wings as if to test them, but then folded them back against her form with a painfilled screech.

“The wing will still be tender for a while,” Kilgharrah observed, nosing at Aithusa's curled up form before taking a few steps back. “I believe she will be in good hands.”

He launched off before Merlin could find a response and Merlin suddenly found himself surrounded again by those he couldn't heal so easily, couldn't save at all.

“I don't know what happened,” he admitted, sluggishly climbing to his feet and trying to _believe_. “I don't know who did this. But I'm not convinced that it was Arthur and as long as we cannot be sure beyond doubt, I think we had best tread with caution, calm down and hold back on accusations.”

“I'm not going to be one of the lambs led to slaughter,” Ruadan spat. “Do you expect us to just wait for the next attack?”

“No, we'll take care of those who were injured, double our defenses and try to make sense of what happened,” Merlin replied. “And when we know who's responsible, we'll act accordingly. Not beforehand.”

“And if we don't find proof? What then? Shall we just pretend that nothing happened and go ahead with blind trust?” Ari demanded.

Before Merlin could come with a reply, Hamo stepped forward with a large red piece of fabric in his hand. “We do have proof, though.” He murmured a few words and the magic washed out of the cloak, taking with it the stitched golden dragon and deep red colour and leaving a brown blanket with frayed edges. “This was the work of someone possessed of magic.”

“And probably smeone with a better motive,” Merlin agreed, his breath easing almost imperceptively. “Unless you're suggesting that I helped Arthur with this foul trick, we'll have to look elsewhere for the culprit. Am I under suspicion?”

“Of course not, Emrys, we know how hard you worked for this peace,” Iseldir said immediately. “We will search the area for any other traces of magic.”

There were murmurs of assent and even Ruadan's grudging nod. It would have to do.

He turned to Arthur, though he couldn't quite meet his eyes. “I think it would be best if you gave us some space, your Majesty.”

“I... of course.” Merlin could tell that Arthur had meant to say something else, offer his help again maybe, protest his innocence. “Send word if there is anything I can do.”

Merlin had never been so glad to see him go, to see those bloody red cloaks grow smaller with every step of distance between them, to not have to think, if only for a moment.

“I've never been good with healing spells,” he admitted, his gaze flitting over wounds and clutching hands, away from the lifeless body at his feet. “But what strength I have is here for you to draw on.”


	13. What Comfort There Is

Merlin looked down on the sleeping city below, the rooftops illuminated by moonlight, the sway of a guard's lantern and the dreary blanket of rain over everything else. He didn't turn to face his king.

"I did not expect to find you here," Arthur admitted, stepping close to him; Merlin wanted to curl away from his touch but stopped himself. "Do you know who was behind the attack?"

"We found a man in the woods, dying from his injuries," Merlin said tonelessly, seeing the pallid man again, his soaked tunic, the torn flesh at his side, the enchanted cloak. "No-one recognised him, either."

"Did he say who sent him?" Arthur asked impatiently.

"No." Blood had bubbled from his mouth with every forced exhalation, but there had been no words. "It doesn't matter. Ryia found their camp a mile to the east. They weren't knights, just bandits dressed up in red. Sent by someone who wants to see this alliance fail. My money is on Morgana.”

"How did you deal with them?" Arthur asked, acknowledging Merlin’s theory with a grim nod. "Do you need me to send my knights?"

"We didn't," Merlin said, felt the prickle of angry magic under his skin. "Kilgharrah did. They hurt Aithusa."

"I see," Arthur murmured. "Good."

"Is it?" Merlin snapped. "Revenge does not bring back the dead nor heal the wounded."

"Why are you angry at me?" Arthur asked and he sounded hurt. "I had no part in this."

Merlin snorted, wanting to be angry like his magic, a storm, a force of nature, but could only feel cold and tired at the uselessness of it all. "They were your people, were they not? That is what you promised at least. How can you stand there and call it 'good' when we were attacked in sight of your walls. When you didn't protect us."

"Merlin...," Arthur's voice was half choked, a feeble thing like a newly hatched bird, and Merlin felt the guilt wrap around his throat. "I'm..."

"Mordred," he interrupted Arthur's apology that would only make him feel worse. "Kilgharrah said he would kill you. So did Lochru. And I resented him, feared him, wished him dead even. And now he is and I should be happy, shouldn't I? I should feel relieved that now nothing stands in the way of your destiny. I should... I should have saved him because he was only a boy, a sweet, solemn little boy who never did any harm and probably never would have."

He only noticed that he was crying when Arthur started to thumb away his tears, slinging a strong arm around his chest and pulling him back against his own. "Oh, Merlin."

He dissolved into wet, heaving breaths, his eyes squeezed shut against the tears and the images to no avail.

"I didn't want him to die," he confessed, Arthur warm and alive at his side. "But I don't know if I would have protected him if I had been there. What does that make me?"

"Human," Arthur murmured into his hair. "Human and loyal and mine."

"Would you have me turn into this?" Merlin asked desperately. "Willing to sacrifice anything and anyone to get what I want?"

Arthur shook his head. "I would not have you pay that price for my safety - nor trade the life of an innocent child for mine. I hope you know that. But you did not kill Mordred and it is not your fault that he died. Do the druids blame you?"

"No, they... they wouldn't save him," Merlin whimpered. "They..."

"... couldn't do anything with an arrow in his stomach," Arthur interrupted him gently. "I've seen many men die, Merlin, old and young, good and bad, innocent and guilty. Every day I get reports of raided villages, pleas for my help and messages that any assistance would come too late. Every winter Gaius is beset by mothers cradling their sick and dying children and there are too many he cannot save."

"I know that," Merlin murmured, and he did. He had ridden out many a time with Arthur against bandits and hostile knights and sorcerers and there had been death. It was part of his job to sort through the letters and reports Arthur received and they were full of bad news. And he helped Gaius were he could and gave the last comforts were he couldn't. But it was different this time. Because he couldn't mourn Mordred without betraying Arthur and any sense of relief made him sick to his stomach ( _dead eyes_ ).

But Arthur somehow knew or understood, rubbing circles on his back as he said: "My father... it's only now that I begin to glimpse how misguided he was, how cruel even, how many innocent people he sentenced to death out of grief and a wish for vengeance. But even before, when I had to watch him wither away, only a shell of what he used to be, frail and broken... a part of me was glad when he finally found peace."

Merlin heaved another shaking breath, but Arthur's arms stayed sure around him. "You sat outside that door the whole night - let me offer what comfort I can now."

Merlin gave a tentative nod, sinking into Arthur's familiar scent and leaning against the toned chest beneath the thin fabric of Arthur's tunic. They stayed like that until Merlin felt... better, not good, not all right, but better.

"I didn't think you knew how to give a hug," Merlin murmured as he drew back, a soft teasing lilt in his voice that brought a smile to Arthur's face.

"You're not the only one with hidden talents, Merlin," Arthur replied, clasping his shoulder and giving it a comforting squeeze before stepping back to allow Merlin to get up from the window sill. "I'll have someone bring up dinner. You look like you'll keel over if I don't feed you soon."

Merlin rolled his eyes. "I'm not your pet. I can feed myself."

"Your bony wrists belie that statement," Arthur gave right back, wrapping his hand around Merlin's right wrist, his fingertips brushing against his thumb, and tugging him over to the table.

"I can't. I should get back to the others and to Aithusa. I can't leave her alone right now," Merlin protested, pulling free of Arthur's light hold. "I can... she's crying out for me even now. I shouldn't have stayed as long as I did."

"Bring her here," Arthur offered, stopping him on his way to the door. "It's still raining and she's too big to fit comfortably into a tent."

"I can find somewhere else for us to stay," Merlin protested, but the only place he could think of that was both roomy and dry was the last place he wanted to go ( _clammy hands on his skin_ ).

"But you don't have to," Arthur pointed out, the dark look that crossed his face telling Merlin that he had noticed him shudder at the brush of memory. "I want you here, and Aithusa too."

_Where you're safe_ , he might have said, _where I can protect you_. Merlin appreciated that he didn't, that Arthur didn't pretend that Merlin was helpless, useless, that he couldn't defend himself if need be. They were well past those pretenses.

"I'll see if she wants to come," Merlin compromised, slipping out of Arthur's room before the king could offer to join him.

* * *

Aithusa, as it turned out, was neither difficult to find nor difficult to persuade. She raced towards him as soon as he came in sight of the druids' camp and pressed against his side, snuffling and whining. Merlin scratched her scaly head, smoothed his hands along her sides and her frail wings, over the bones that he had had to mend only hours before. She still moved her hurt wing as if it was stiff, not folding it out as much as the other one, and the bandage he had fastened around her wing to stabilise it was soaked and askew.

She stayed glued to his side as he walked through the camp, exchanging a word here and there, noting that most of the tents had been rebuilt and the knights posted around the camp in a loose ring, pointedly facing outwards. It was difficult to judge the mood, but it seemed to him more subdued than angry, and Hamo even admitted that Arthur's knights had helped them set the camp to order. It was more than he had dared to hope for.

With Aithusa in tow he made his way back to the castle, soaking wet by now, and only the side that Aithusa was pressed against moderately warm. Aithusa's claws clacked and scratched over the stone floors, and the torches along the wall created grotesque shapes out of their shadows. Aithusa took everything in with huge golden eyes and fluttering nostrils, craning her neck to look around corners but not straying from Merlin’s side. He was grateful for that, at least, not in the mood or physical shape to try to keep up with a wayward dragon.

When he pushed the door open wide to let Aithusa pass, she recovered some of her curiosity and enthusiasm, hopping past him and Arthur and bounding around the room. She quickly circled it, bumped against Arthur’s desk chair, blew smoke at the fire and then zeroed in on Arthur’s bed, completely ignoring the nest of blankets and pillows Arthur, or more likely one of the castle’s servants had piled up next to it.

The shocked look on Arthur’s face and the way Aithusa made herself at home amongst the king’s feather pillows brought a small but genuine smile to Merlin’s face.

“I can get her off of there,” Merlin offered even as Aithusa settled down with her teeth gnawing on an edge of Arthur’s comforter, her body spread diagonally across the four-poster bed.

“No, don’t bother. She looks comfortable and the bed’s already muddy and wet,” Arthur declined. “You should eat something.”

Merlin shook his head, cleaning and drying the bed with a flash of his eyes. “I’m not hungry, just tired.”

“Merlin...”

Merlin went over to Aithusa, gently peeled away the bandage on her wing and replaced it with a new one from the stock of medical supplies he kept in Arthur’s bedside drawer, letting his magic soothe her aches and cleaning away the last few drops of blood. It looked so much better now, just a pale pink line bisecting her wing, but underneath there was still tension, hurt. Time would heal what his magic couldn’t.

“I’ll make up the cot for you, if that’s okay,” he said, smoothing his hand over Aithusa’s snout.

Arthur made a huffing noise, suddenly next to Merlin. “Get into the bed, Merlin.”

“What?”

“I said, get into the bed, Merlin,” Arthur repeated, tugging off Merlin’s soaked jacket and then kneeled down at his feet to take off his shoes. “If you won’t eat, you’re at least going to get a good night’s rest. I’m sure Aithusa won’t mind sharing with you.”

“But...”

Arthur had moved on to his socks, but hesitated over his tunic and breeches, all rain-wet and clinging uncomfortably to Merlin’s skin. “I’ll get you something to change into.”

“You’re the king,” Merlin protested, making to get up, but Arthur pushed him back down.

“I’m your friend,” Arthur replied firmly, throwing a fresh tunic in Merlin’s direction. “Get changed and get under the covers. I don’t want you getting sick.”

Arthur pointedly turned his back towards Merlin, busying himself with stoking the fire with passing competence. He waited a moment longer. “Are you dressed?”

Merlin unaccountably blushed before springing into action, pulling the wet tunic over his head and exchanging it for the one Arthur had given him. He hesitated over his breeches, but then just dried them with magic, not comfortable with taking them off even with Arthur’s back turned. “I’m good.”

“You’re still not in bed,” Arthur pointed out. “Need me to tuck you in?”

“Where are you going to sleep?” Merlin demanded.

Arthur rolled his eyes, stepping up to Merlin’s side once more and maneouvring him under the covers. Aithusa watched him with sleepy interest, but only snorted unhappily when he tried to make her give up her chew toy.

“For now I’m just going to make sure that you stay in bed and rest,” Arthur replied, pulling up a chair and resting his naked feet on the corner of the bed. “Get the candles, would you?”

Merlin sighed, throwing the edge of the cover over Arthur’s feet, and then extinguished the candles.

 


	14. And Peace In All the Lands

Merlin pushed free of the overly warm blankets, pushed away from Aithusa’s unnaturally high body temperature and ended up smushed against Arthur’s toasty warm chest. He wondered if it would be worth the hazzle to demand how Arthur had come to sleep in his own bed, the chair and his shirt abandoned at the bedside, and his body bracketing Merlin between him and the white dragon.

Arthur grunted, raising one hand to rub at his eyes, then stared up at Merlin. “What are you doing?”

“You told me to sleep here,” Merlin said defensively. “In your bed, I mean, not here, specifically.”

“I’m aware,” Arthur grumbled, closing his eyes again as if he had lost interest in the conversation. “You’re not sleeping. Go back to sleep.”

Merlin gaped at him for a moment, then tried to roll off of him, but only managed to wedge himself more firmly between his two bedmates. Aithusa snuffled sleepily closer, burrowing Merlin under her right wing, and doing nothing to improve Merlin’s temperature balance.

“Would you stop wriggling?” Arthur demanded, resting a heavy hand between Merlin’s shoulderblades, but then removed it again. Merlin felt the loss of that warmth not as a relief but as a disappointment, a reminder of how damaged he was and how damaged Arthur knew him to be.

“Aithusa is like a furnace,” Merlin pointed out, trying to push away her wing.

Arthur grunted. “Fine. I guess it’s close enough to morning for breakfast, anyway.” He pushed off the blanket and swung his legs over the side of the bed. “Are you... You look better.”

He assessed Merlin with a critical gaze, then stood up with a decisive nod, striding over to the door and demanding breakfast be brought up from someone unseen.

“I feel better, thank you,” Merlin said softly, even as the previous day’s events crashed down over him once more. “Do you think… I know it is against the law to give druids a proper burial, but… it would mean a lot to us, to me.”

Arthur spun around, then quickly strode back to the bed, jostling Merlin and Aithusa both as he sat down on the edge. Aithusa huffed then stretched luxuriously, her wings and body unfolding in the confined space. Her golden eyes slipped open and fixed on Merlin with unerring precision.

“Good morning, beautiful girl,” Merlin murmured, scratching her nose in greeting. “I hope you enjoyed a goodnight’s sleep in the royal bed.”

Aithusa relished in his affection for a moment, but then hopped off the bed with a happy crow and continued her inspection of Arthur’s chambers that had been cut short the night before due to her fascination with the king’s bed.

“Merlin,” Arthur demanded his attention. “I know that repelling these laws is taking longer than you had hoped, longer than we all had hoped, but they are no longer enforceable. I promise you, Mordred will be buried with all honours and you will not have to fear reprisals.”

A knight’s word was his bond and a king’s word was doubly so, Merlin knew that, but the day before had taught him that even without open enmity between magic-users and the throne, they weren’t safe.

Arthur sighed deeply. “There used to be a time when you weren’t as mistrustful of my promises. I wish I could bring that time back.”

“It’s not you I mistrust,” Merlin said softly, resting his hand on Arthur’s arm to still his nervous plugging of the comforter. “Not specifically.”

“I know, but – ” Arthur was interrupted by a knock on the door and before Merlin could do something about their compromising closeness, the king had already bid enter to a scurrying servant who regarded them with wide eyes and left as soon as she had deposited the breakfast on the table.

Merlin slumped as soon as the maid had left, sighing heavily. “You know there’ll be rumours all around the castle within the hour.”

“Good,” Arthur said, ignoring Merlin’s gobsmacked expression. “I want everyone to know how much I value your friendship.”

“They won’t be talking about our friendship!” Merlin protested. “They’ll… I’m in your bed, Arthur! You’re not wearing a shirt! Surely you realise what this looks like.”

The muscles in Arthur’s jaw worked. “If anyone gives you trouble about this, you come to me.”

“That’s not… Arthur, what about Gwen?”

“What about her?” Arthur demanded curtly, but not with the quelling rage that had choked off any inquiries about his fiancée in the past. “She made her choice.”

“She still loves you and I know you still love her,” Merlin said softly, knowing that he was threading on thin ice. “I told you how Morgana brought Lancelot back as a shade – you don’t know how else she may have influenced their behaviour.”

“You’re right. But I do know how she looked at Lancelot, before and after our engagement,” Arthur answered. “Whatever hand Morgana played in all of this, Gwen’s feelings and actions did not come from nowhere. She betrayed me; I could never have a relationship with her again.”

“I betrayed you too,” Merlin whispered, twisting his fingers so that he wouldn’t have to look at Arthur.

“Your reasons I can understand.” Arthur tipped up Merlin’s chin. “If it bothers you, I will make sure to quench any rumours, but I don’t really see the point in denying how much I care about you. I made that mistake before and… you’re not my servant, Merlin. You’re my friend, my advisor, my protector as I’ve now learned, and I will make sure that you have my protection as well.”

“That’s… thank you,” Merlin answered, not quite sure how to respond to Arthur’s declaration. “But you don’t have to - ”

“Yes, I do,” Arthur interrupted him. “We are two sides of the same coin, are we not? And I don’t yet know what that means exactly, but I’m pretty sure we’re in this together.”

“So you’re saying I’m stuck with you?” Merlin asked teasingly, squaking indignantly when Arthur put him into a headlock and rubbed his knuckles over his skull.

“Exactly. Plus, I need a Court Sorcerer and I just know you’ll look fetching in the new official garb.”

Merlin sputtered, but his protests were lost under Arthur’s laughter. “At least tell me it doesn’t come with a hat! Arthur!”

Arthur only laughed louder.

* * *

The parchment snapped back into a roll with a soft whir, concealing the twelve signatures of the druids, Arthur and his councilmen, sealing the peace between Camelot and all magic-users. Merlin felt a grin spread over his face, broad and infectious, as cheers went up around the hall. He could hear his own name, interspersed with “Long live the king” and “Camelot” and “peace” and “freedom”.

He stumbled slightly in surprise when magic joined the mix, no longer contained and carefully kept under wraps but swirling and dancing through the air in colourful sparks and rainbows, creating an invisible mist of energy. Arthur wrapped a hand around his arm to steady him and Merlin knew from his sudden intake of breath that his own eyes were flashing gold, magic twining around his torso and limbs, spreading to Arthur, wreathing him in gold.

“You did this,” Arthur said in a whisper, leaning close to Merlin. “This is all for you.”

“For us,” Merlin corrected softly. “For all of us.”

He could feel the joy of magic all around him, the happiness and ease of the druids that grew with every second that went past without retaliation, Kilgharrah’s laughter in his mind, the warmth of Arthur’s presence. And even though this was only just the beginning, the cornerstone of what they were going to build, even though Morgana would likely not accept Arthur’s offer of forgiveness, he felt truly safe for the first time in months, maybe years.

The hat was only a small annoyance.

 

\---THE END---

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, my dears, this is it. I hope you all enjoyed my little story and thank you so much for all your thoughtful and encouraging reviews, kudos and bookmarks.  
> Until next time, maybe!
> 
> PS: I added a picture of Merlin to Chapter 8.


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